


By the Full Moon

by KMWells



Series: The Darcy Potter Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, F/M, Family, Guilt, Harry Has a Sibling, Jealousy, Promotion to Parent Trope, Slow Burn, character driven, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2018-10-20 23:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 62
Words: 241,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10673109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMWells/pseuds/KMWells
Summary: Darcy Potter returns to Hogwarts for her final year at Hogwarts, overcome with fear at the idea that Sirius Black may have escaped Azkaban to come after her brother. Bitter at Harry's developing independence, he begins to push her away and distance himself. All the while, a new professor has arrived at Hogwarts with connections to her parents' past, and she keeps having strange dreams of a faceless man saving her from a scene of destruction... Her relationships become strained as Darcy feels increasing pressure to figure out who will come first in her life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally written the Darcy Potter series many moons ago when I was very young and very sick, confined to my bed for a few weeks. After that, I kept going on with them, all the way until I had FOUR whole stories where, ultimately, I failed to finish up the last few chapters of the last story due to a rapidly changing lifestyle. That's why I decided to move over from Fanfiction.net to this site and I've found the motivation to rewrite all of the stories and I intend to actually FINISH the last story.
> 
> I hope that my writing has improved since I first started them several years ago (I'm sure it has, and I'm still incredibly embarrassed that I ever posted the original stories because they literally cause me to cringe now).
> 
> Writing a brother-sister duo comes so naturally to me, considering that my younger brother and I are extremely close, and I think it's a really interesting dynamic to write because there are so many emotions involved between siblings and, really, there's a certain sense of openness between siblings, like there's nothing that can't be shared. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy - and I'm sure in a few years from now, I'll be just as embarrassed about this story as I am about the original one.

“You shouldn’t have done that… oh, you _really_ shouldn’t have - just you wait - why would you -?” Her eyebrows furrow in concentration. “ _How_ did you…? She was floating… that way…” She looks up at the night sky, arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed. She searches, but the sound of her trunk falling over makes her jump and she picks it back up, chasing after her brother. In just a few long strides, she catches up to him again, slowing her pace and dragging her trunk noisily behind her. “All right - I won’t say that I’m not impressed, but you _really_ shouldn’t have done that.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Harry argues, rolling his eyes at her. “I just got angry is all.”

Darcy scoffs, her eyes quickly roaming the sky one more time for the silhouette of their currently distended aunt. “Angry at what?” she asks casually.

Harry looks sideways at her, huffing, his nerves still jangling. “Were we at the same dinner table?” he snaps. “You heard what she said.”

“Yeah, I heard what she said,” Darcy replies. “A whole load of horse shit about mum and dad.”

“It doesn’t matter! She shouldn’t have said those things!”

“Harry, the Dursleys - Marge - they’re bitter and jealous and don’t like things they can’t understand, that’s all! We have _nothing_ to prove to those people.”

Harry doesn’t answer.

Darcy smiles down at him. “C’mon, Harry, you know that stuff wasn’t true. What does Marge know about our mum and dad? I’ll bet a whole lot less than we do.” She shrugs. “Don’t let that stuff get you fired up. She was only doing it to get a rise out of us.”

“And she succeeded, didn’t she?” Harry hisses, sneering at the thought of his aunt’s crooked, gleeful smile she had worn at dinner. “So she got what she wanted - she got what she deserved. Just because she likes you better -”

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa! You know that’s not true.” She purses her lips as she thinks. “Remember when that damn dog bit my arm and the whole way to hospital Marge kept laughing and said that I must’ve deserved it if he bit me? I probably have rabies because of that.”

“Shut up,” Harry says. “You’d be dead by now.”

Darcy ignores him. “Where are you headed anyway?”

“What do you mean, _where am I headed_?” he demands. “Like you’ve got a plan?”

“Of course I’ve got a plan,” Darcy chuckles, infuriating Harry. “I thought I’d just let you lead this time. See where you take us.”

Harry sighs and stops walking, dropping his trunk and pushing it to the side of the road. He rubs his eyes and messes up his hair, breathing in the cool air. “You know, you didn’t have to come with me,” Harry says coldly, walking over to his trunk and sitting on the curb. “You’re more than welcome to leave at any time.”

“Harry, stop being so dramatic,” she teases. “Do you have any money on you?”

He shakes his head as if the idea is ridiculous.

Darcy holds out her hand to him, expecting something from him. “Wizard money, Harry.”

Harry shrugs. “In my trunk, I think.”

“Good,” Darcy says, swooping to his trunk and beginning to open it before he can say another word. She digs around in his stuff, pushing around the contents inside to find some money. “Remember how much I took out last August? I spent it all before Easter holidays. Nearly died on the train ride home without those little cookies they have - you know the ones? _Oh_ , got some!”

In her hand are thirty silver Sickles. A broad smile crosses her face and she puts all of Harry’s stuff back into place and closes his trunk again. “What are we going to do with that?” Harry asks, and then he adds quickly, “And you should really save your money next time so we won’t have to use mine!”

But as Darcy opens her mouth to protest, she notices his lips purse and his eyebrows furrow, his eyes looking past her, to the right of her. His expression, one of mingled fear and curiosity, disturbs her and she turns around quickly. Darcy attempts to follow his line of sight, but it’s quite clear to her what he’s staring at. She can see it, just barely glimpse it, in the shadows of a bush. A large black shadow with eyes that glow in the lamplight.

She takes a single step forward, trying to get a better look at it. It has to be a dog... It has to be... but it's the size of a small bear – if she could just get a little bit closer... close enough to see what it is... But it makes a step, almost as if marking them as prey, baring its teeth and emitting a low growl...

Darcy gasps, fumbling for her wand, which is tucked in her back pocket, but before she can even attempt to attack whatever is in front of her, she's blinded by bright, white light. The figure of something much bigger than the shadow comes barreling near her and she steps back just in time. Her heart pounds against her ribcage, sweat forming on her forehead, but as she looks up at the magnificent, purple vehicle that almost ran her over, she laughs out loud.

Harry looks at her, his eyes wide and his face pale. He’s bursting to ask about what Darcy saw, but he hesitates when he sees clearly what’s in front of him. Both he and Darcy look up at the violently purple, triple-decker bus, headlights casting bright, white light throughout the street.

Darcy’s amused, shaking her head as a lanky boy exits the bus in a purple uniform. He looks at Darcy and grins, bearing yellow teeth and laughing incredulously. “Back again, eh?” he says to Darcy, who’s already stepping inside the bus, her trunk right behind her. “S’been awhile since I seen ya!”

“Last summer,” Darcy replies flatly, her voice drifting out the open windows of the bus. “Same as always.”

The boy called Stan peers down at Harry, looking suspicious. Darcy suddenly appears at his shoulder, giving Harry a sharp look and saying, “This is my cousin, Stan. We’re going to be spending the rest of our summer holiday at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“Ah!” Stan shouts, sounding disappointed. “I thought maybe you’d be going to meet that blonde friend of yours.”

She raises her eyebrows at Harry before disappearing into the bus again. “Not this time, Stan.”

While Stan struggles with Harry’s overstuffed trunk, he follows Darcy towards the back, amazed at how calm and collected she is. Inside the bus are several beds, comfortable looking, but very unsturdy looking, as well. Darcy sits down on a bed in the bed and Harry sits beside her, close enough to have a whispered conversation.

“What is this thing?” Harry hisses, looking around.

Darcy digs around in her pockets and pulls out twenty-two sickles. She doesn’t answer, but watches Stan walk slowly towards them again, a lopsided smile glued to his face. “Hot chocolate this time?” Stan asks, clearing his throat.

Darcy smiles sweetly up at Stan, but talks to Harry. “Hot chocolate is normally extra, but Stan discounts it for frequent riders,” she says, “doesn’t he?”

“If once a year is what you call a ‘frequent ride’,” Stan jokes. His laugh is obnoxious, a high pitched giggle, and Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Though, he’s amazed at how easily Stan submits. “Yeah, all right, I’ll get you your hot chocolate.”

“And one for my cousin, too, please!” Darcy shouts after him. She turns to Harry again, smiling awkwardly. “This is the Knight Bus. You must have accidentally hailed it when you fell down.”

“Where’s it you’re going, again?” Stan inquires as he brings them two steaming mugs. Darcy’s mug is stuffed with marshmallows.

“The Leaky Cauldron, please.”

As Stan slinks away from them yet again, Darcy continues. “It’s quite convenient, but I must warn you -”

Before Darcy can finish her sentence, the Knight Bus takes off with a bang, the force of the acceleration moving the beds towards the back of the bus. Darcy lifts her legs to keep the bed frames from hitting her. Harry quickly imitates her, but spills his hot chocolate all down his front, burning his skin. He tries to find balance again, but ends up being thrown against the wall, his mug falling to the ground and smashing into several large pieces.

“I tried to warn you, honest!” Darcy laughs. “But it’s not that bad after the third time. You kind of get used to it.”

“When have you ever had the time to ride this thing?” Harry yelps as his foot gets caught beneath two beds.

“You know how every summer I go to Emily’s for a week?”

“Yeah.”

“Being underage presented itself with some difficulties,” Darcy continues, bouncing on the bed and the Knight Bus rolled over some large bumps. “The biggest one being lack of transportation.”

“Why didn’t you just use broomsticks?”

“You know I wouldn’t be caught dead on a broomstick.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah, well unfortunately, dad failed to pass those broomstick riding genes to me,” Darcy shrugs, taking a small sip of her drink, slurping at it and popping a large marshmallow into her mouth. “Anyway, Stan’s been the conductor for a while, ever since he was real young.”

“Didn’t he go to Hogwarts?”

“Dunno,” Darcy replies, a slight smirk on her face. “I’ve never seen him around, have you?”

Harry thinks hard and nods. “I suppose not.”

The Knight Bus continues to jump from place to place, knocking Harry all over the place, into windows and onto the ground. He eventually ends up falling on top of the chips of mug he’d dropped earlier, cutting up the palms of his hands. Darcy finishes her hot chocolate, somehow still sitting straight up on the bed, but her face is slightly tinted green.

“Done with that?” Stan asks slyly, sneaking up on them and smiling at Darcy. “I can take it if you want.”

“Thanks, Stan,” Darcy says with a small smile. “How many more stops?”

“Just a few,” he answers. “Why? You in a hurry?”

As Darcy is suddenly jerked sideways, she laughs mirthlessly. “Something like that.” She notices the newspaper folded in his hand. “Do you mind if I borrow that?”

Stan hands it to her and she unfolds it, eyes scanning the stories for anything of interest. Harry studies the front page, the one that’s facing him, and he tilts his head in confusion, forehead creasing. “Who is that man?” he asks suddenly, pointing at the page. “Who is this? I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

Darcy cocks an eyebrow and closes the paper to see who Harry’s pointing at. She looks at the moving photograph carefully, watching the man scream and fight the chains that are binding him. A thin, gaunt man with long and stringy black hair stares up at her. His teeth look to be off color, even though the picture is black and white. She knows who he is - Sirius Black. Darcy’s seen him on the Muggle news several times over the summer.

“Sirius Black,” Stan answers for her, overly dramatic and leaning in towards Harry. He raises his eyebrows to his hairline, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Killed twelve Muggles and a wizard with one spell.”

“One spell can do that?” Harry whispers, eyes growing large. “Just kill all those people?”

Stan grimaces. “He was a powerful wizard,” he explains, “that was in real close with _You-Know-Who_.”

Darcy takes a long look at Sirius’s photograph. Finally, tiring of Stan’s hovering presence, she shoves the paper back into his hands and he shuffles off towards the front of the bus. The bus suddenly leans to the right, balancing on two wheels, but after a moment, it lands on all fours again and carries on through the night. Darcy looks out the window, rain beginning to fall from the sky and splashing into the bus and onto her face. She quickly puts the window up as the bus stops suddenly, nearly throwing her forward.

“You saw the dog, didn’t you?” Harry whispers, dangerously close to her ear.

She jumps and turns to look at Harry, peering at him intensely. “Are you sure that’s what it was?”

“That’s what it had to be, right?” he asks again, his face looking anxious. “I mean - what else could it have been?”

Darcy shrugs, pushing the creeping paranoia to the back of her mind. “Well, whatever it was, it can’t have followed us all the way out here.”

The Knight Bus came to a shuddering halt once more, with a loud _bang_! Darcy immediately stands up, her long legs carrying her off the bus much faster than Harry, who wanted nothing more than to reach solid, unmoving ground. As he gets down the stairs, Stan carries his trunk out for him, placing it next to Darcy’s on the sidewalk.

The familiar smell of stale smoke and burnt soup lingers in the air outside the Leaky Cauldron. Darcy looks up at the place, smoke billowing from the high chimney, blocked by the pointed roof of the building. It’s impossible to see in the grubby and cracking windows.

“Not bad, huh?” Darcy asks with a smirk as the Knight Bus’s doors shut and it rattles away from them, leaving them completely in the dark. She crosses her arms and looks up at the swinging sign. “I told you I had a plan.”

“Yeah, well -”

“Harry! Miss Potter!”

Darcy and Harry jump, looking quickly towards the door of the Leaky Cauldron. It opens with such force that Darcy is sure whoever it behind it is trying to knock it off its hinges. But when she sees who it is that’s greeting her, her smile is wiped off her face.

Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, stands before them, a broad grin across his face and arms wide open as if expecting hugs. Darcy remembers seeing him quite often during her fourth year at Hogwarts, the year Fudge had been elected Minister of Magic. Frequently, he had met with Dumbledore, who always offered his own advice to Fudge.

Darcy grabs up her trunk, looking at Harry again, who has gone white in the face. However, Fudge is not mad, nor does he seem even slightly irritated. Instead, he is cheerful and warm and inviting and he holds the door open for Darcy and Harry as they walk inside. Just inside the entrance, after the door shuts behind Fudge, he looks them over, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Harry, I’m afraid we’ve never formally met before,” Fudge says brightly, holding out his hand for Harry to shake. “Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. I’m sure you’ve seen my picture in the papers.”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Harry mutters, shaking Fudge’s hand weakly.

Fudge withdraws his hand and looks at Darcy now, offering her a short bow. “And I do believe I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting you, Miss Potter,” he smiles. “But that was some time ago. How have your studies been?”

“Wonderful, sir,” she replies with a small grin. “I’m eager to start this year.”

“Excellent,” Fudge sighs happily, clapping his hands together. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Potter, but I have some business to discuss with your brother - er, _alone_ if you don’t mind. Now, we’ve already had two rooms made up for you, so Tom will bring your luggage up for you… goodnight, Miss Potter… I daresay we’ll see each other again soon enough…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually so excited for myself that I got this chapter done in a timely manner!!!

Having gotten off with hardly a warning, Harry continues to sulk around about not getting a signature on his Hogsmeade form. He avoids Darcy for a few days, but she takes this opportunity to sleep in until noon, catch up on some recreational reading, finish her summer Transfiguration homework, and write letters to her friends, begging them to visit her sooner rather than later. She eats lunch in her room, looking out of the big bay window over Diagon Alley.

During the seventh day, they take a trip to Gringotts early in the morning, wanting to do their shopping before the rush of students and parents. Harry glares at Darcy when she takes a little more money out of their vault and he’d like her to, but she ignores him until they’re back in the bright sunlight of Diagon Alley. She waits in Madam Malkin’s while Harry gets fitted for new robes, and then Harry follows her to the cauldron shop after she complains about her outdated one for five whole minutes. They then stop by the apothecary, and when Darcy leaves, her cauldron and arms are full with potions ingredients.

After dropping their things off at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry resigns to finishing his History of Magic essay outside of Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor. Darcy leans her seat back on two legs, laughing as Harry tries to kick the legs out from under her. They only stop when Florean comes out to bring them ice cream, and he warns them severely to be careful.

Darcy, with a small smile on her face, ties her red hair up in a ponytail, adjusting her sunglasses. “Those new robes look really good on you,” she says, flipping through her book, trying to find her bookmarked page. “Quit growing so fast.”

Harry grunts in response, pulling a quill and bottle of ink from his bag and placing them upon the table. He unrolls his History of Magic essay, dipping his quill into ink and placing the tip to the parchment. “Hey -” he asks suddenly, looking up at Darcy and putting his quill down. “At least you’ll be able to hang out with me during Hogsmeade trips.”

“What?”

“Well, Ron and Hermione probably got their permission slip signed,” he thinks. “But you and I will be able to hang out while they’re gone.”

“Oh,” Darcy laughs sheepishly. Harry narrows his eyes at her, a feeling of dread rising in him. Darcy clears her throat and smiles weakly at him. “Well, I - er, I actually have my permission slip signed.”

“ _What_?” Harry shouts incredulously, suddenly offended. “Who signed yours? When?”

“Aunt Petunia did,” she answers, “when I gave her the slip in my third year.”

“And she just - _signed_ it? Just like that?”

Darcy nods.

Harry scoffs, rolling up his parchment and stuffing it back into his bag, along with his ink bottle and quill. “Of course she did,” he mumbles. “Of course she’d do anything for you, wouldn’t she?”

“Harry!” Darcy says.

“I couldn’t even get the Minister of Magic to sign my paper, but you just walked right up to Petunia and asked for her signature?

“Harry, I -” she stops mid sentence, frowning. “You asked the Minister of Magic to sign your Hogsmeade slip?”

“Yeah, I did!” Harry counters. “And he wouldn’t sign it!”

“Get off my back, Harry!” Darcy hisses, snapping her book shut. “It’s not my fault you didn’t get your permission slip signed! If it matters so much to you, then I’ll sign the damn thing! I’m as good as your guardian, aren’t I?”

The idea interests Harry, but he doesn’t want to admit it, especially in the middle of an argument.

The two, annoyed and irritated by each other, decide to split up for the rest of the night, only meeting again when they eat dinner in the Leaky Cauldron at the same table. Harry doesn’t say anything to Darcy, but he keeps his Hogsmeade permission form folded up in his back pocket, hoping she’ll bring it up again, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything.

It’s not that he shouted at her that bothers her. She knows that Harry is a growing teenager, blossoming into a young adult, growing moodier and more bitter with each week that passes by. She brushes it off most of the time - Harry never really gets to her. After all, she had been thirteen once, too.

But Harry’s comment about Petunia gets to Darcy. It eats at her, a huge weight pressing on her chest, because she knows it’s true. Maybe Petunia wouldn’t do _anything_ for her, but she would do, and has done, more for Darcy than she’s ever offered to do for Harry. And she doesn’t like knowing she’s hurt Harry. It’s always been that way.

* * *

Darcy lies in bed for a long time a few nights later. The train on the muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron rattles the windows, shaking the floorboards beneath her bed. The ceiling is dusty and hasn’t been tended to in ages it seems. With all the lights out, it’s hard to tell, but the bright moon casts light through the thin curtains that are covering the window. Darcy closes her eyes, knowing it’s well past midnight, probably well past two in the morning, but she’s used to this now.

She can actually pinpoint when the dreams started. The beginning of summer, the night after Vernon had tolerated her in the sitting room long enough for her to watch the entire news segment. It had been something about Sirius Black escaping, and Vernon had grumbled on about him, about his long and greasy hair, about his prominent cheekbones, about his sunken face. It hadn’t really bothered Darcy to look at him - sure, he was frightening - but it wasn’t like Sirius Black would be wandering Privet Drive.

That night, Darcy had gone to sleep quickly, but woke late at night after a terrible dream. A very intense, real dream that gave her goosebumps and drenched her in cold sweats. She remembers it, even now, because it’s the same dream she’s been having for weeks. Not every night, but most of them. She remembers screaming - herself screaming - a high pitched scream unlike her own voice now, but she knows it’s her. She doesn’t know how. But she’s trapped, helpless and stuck under something heavy that presses hard on her shoulders and hurts her legs. And just when she thinks all hope is lost, someone comes to her, and that’s when things get stranger.

Whoever comes to her aid, whoever comes to keep her from screaming, she doesn’t know who it is. He’s faceless - or maybe it’s a woman, but she’s sure it’s a man. But he doesn’t scare her. Quite the opposite, actually. Whoever comes to rescue her is familiar and, in her dream, she’s _happy_ to see him.

And then she wakes. Every time, before she can see a face, she’s awake. And no matter how hard she thinks - and she’s laid awake for hours at night thinking hard - she can’t seem to place a face to the man.

The dreams don’t particularly trouble her. They’re strange and unusual and Darcy’s never had strange or unusual dreams before, but they don’t interfere with her everyday life or her schoolwork or her relationships. They’re not troubling dreams, not evil dreams, so Darcy ignores them for the most part.

But as she lies awake that night, she’s afraid to go to sleep for once. Afraid that she’ll wake in a cold sweat, screaming outloud, confused and helpless.

Eventually, she goes to sleep, and the dream comes back that night. And this time, there are green flashes of light, a loud rumbling sound, and just as the man rescues Darcy, she tries hard to get a good look at his face -

“Hey -” someone says, waking her instantly. “Wake up.”

Darcy, frightened and dazed, sits up straight, expecting Harry or a maid to be sitting on the edge of her bed. But it’s not - it’s Emily, her best friend since her first year at Hogwarts, and she’s got a huge smile on her face. Darcy smiles right back, running a hand through her hair and casually wiping the sweat off her forehead.

“I made Tom tell me what room you were staying in,” she explains, standing up off Darcy’s bed. She digs around in Darcy’s trunk, throwing some clothes at her. “Didn’t take much.”

“Yeah, well, I think he’s used to the idea of us being inseparable,” Darcy chuckles, throwing on the shirt and jeans Emily’s thrown at her.

Emily watches Darcy get dressed with her arms over her chest. “You’re a little sweaty - you sure you don’t want to wash up first?” she asks with a cocked eyebrow.

“I’m starving,” Darcy replies, hopping on one foot as she struggles to tie her shoe. “And I’d rather be full than clean right now.”

“Having that dream again?”

Darcy grunts in reply. She’s forgotten she had told Emily that. Emily had been the first person she wrote to after the dreams started happening consistently. “Not a big deal,” she says, lazily making her bed. ` “They’re getting more and more real though. I feel like it…”

Emily eyes her suspiciously as Darcy trails off, lost in thought, apparently thinking hard. She decides to change the topic. “Where’s your shadow?”

“Sleeping,” Darcy yawns. “Or sulking. He’s pretty upset he didn’t get his permission form signed.”

“He’ll get over it,” Emily says. “In four years, he’ll be able to go wherever the hell he wants, anyway. But I have to say - I’m kinda impressed by what he did to your aunt.”

Darcy shoots her a dangerous look. “Don’t tell Harry that.” She suddenly relaxes, a broad smile crossing her face. “I was a little impressed, too.”

“And he just got off with a warning?”

“I suppose so,” Darcy shrugs, pulling on a light jacket. “I wasn’t there when he talked to Fudge.”

“Harry didn’t tell you what he said?”

“Like I said,” Darcy rolls her eyes, “he’s sulking.”

Darcy and Emily decide to have breakfast outside a cafe directly across from a gaggle of first years anxiously nearly drooling over the new Firebolt broomstick. After a few minutes, their entire table is covered with food - oatmeal, fruit, pastries - and they’re enjoying breakfast at a table, cooling in the shade from a colorful umbrella, talking animatedly - as teenage girls usually do.

“What do you think about a new Defense professor?” Emily finally asks, mouth full of fruit.

“They’ve hired a new one?” Darcy cocks an eyebrow.

“Well, I mean - they kinda had to, right?” Emily laughs. “Can’t say I won’t be sorry that Professor Lockhart is gone. I kind of liked him. Handsome, wasn’t he?”

“Mm,” Darcy replies, filling her mouth with a large chunk of muffin. “Very.”

“Have you talked to Carla at all this summer?”

“We’ve sent a few letters,” Darcy sighs. “I sent her the same one I sent you. Thought she would’ve shown up already.”

“She stayed the night at my place for a few days right after term ended,” Emily says.

“How is she?”

“Well, she was still freaking about her O.W.L.’s, but she’ll be okay.”

The two of them eat in a silence for a little bit before talking about everything they can think of - Sirius Black, Quidditch, N.E.W.T.’s - and then Darcy decides to ask Emily a question that’s been planted in her brain ever since coming to Diagon Alley, ever since seeing Sirius Black’s face printed on hundreds of flyers that are posted all over the small community. She hesitates, but knowing that Emily won’t laugh, pushes on.

“Hey, I have a question for you,” Darcy starts, and Emily urges her on. “It might sound stupid, but -”

“Just ask it, Darcy.”

Darcy laughs sheepishly. “You don’t think - you don’t think Sirius Black escaped to come after Harry, do you?”

Emily scoffs. “What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I just - he was _in_ with Voldemort, you know? And I mean - it is a little weird that he happened to break out of Azkaban after Harry destroyed that diary. Right? Am I being paranoid?”

“I mean, yeah, the timing’s a little weird,” Emily shrugs. “But after all those years in Azkaban, I don’t think he’s going to do anything that might get him caught and thrown back in, you know? And besides, there’s no way he’d go back to Hogwarts. Only a fool would.”

“He’s been in Azkaban for over a decade,” Darcy says quietly as people pass by them. “Maybe it’s turned him into a big enough fool to try something like that.”

“How would he get into Hogwarts anyway? Dumbledore has that place locked down like Azkaban. Just without dementors.”

Darcy shudders at the thought. “Have you ever seen one? A dementor?”

“No,” Emily gives her an incredulous look. “And I hope I never do.”

Darcy looks at Emily for a long time as she continues to eat, dipping her fork into everything, even Darcy’s food. But she doesn’t mind. “I’m worried about Harry, Emily.”

“He’s a big boy, he’ll be all right.”

“He just turned thirteen not too long ago.”

“Darcy, quit worrying,” she snorts. “He’ll be fine. He’s got you. That’s always been enough, hasn’t it?”

“All my years at Hogwarts and it’s been smooth and quiet and slightly boring,” Darcy raises her eyebrows to her hairline, “and then Harry comes along and the last two years, I almost died. Tell me you don’t think something’s gonna go down this year, too?”

Emily smiles sweetly, innocently. “Nothing’s going to happen this year, okay? It’s gonna be great. And then we’ll graduate and we can get you the hell away from that pathetic excuse for a home you have.”

“Emily,” Darcy breathes, smiling weakly. “I can’t leave Harry there.”

Emily sighs heavily, sweeping her blonde hair out of her face, putting down her fork. “You’re going to have to leave him eventually,” she says. “You’re his sister, not his mother. Harry knows you won’t be there forever. You’ve got your own life to live, Darcy. You can’t put your dreams on hold for him.”

“Harry’s the only family I’ve got,” Darcy frowns. “You don’t know what that’s like. All I’ve ever known is taking care of him.”

“If you give up your goals and dreams just because of Harry, he’s going to feel that guilt forever. You know that, right? You can’t dump that on him.” Emily touches Darcy’s arm affectionately, chewing her cheek. “You’ve done plenty for him. You’ve done enough. It’s time to live your life without being chained to Harry.”

Darcy’s quiet, toying with the bacon on her plate.

“I know you love him,” Emily returns to eating, “but it’s time to let him go.”

Darcy smiles weakly at Emily, then looks back down at her plate. “If only it was that simple.”


	3. Chapter 3

“C’mon… you’re sweating against me…”

“Sorry… can’t help it…”

Emily rolls over and takes the blanket with her, leaving Darcy feeling exposed and cool. Unable to fall back asleep within a few minutes, Darcy sits up, rubbing her eyes. Emily is snoring slightly, drool pooling on her pillow. She stands and walks over the window, peering out to Diagon Alley.

The moon is still high in the sky. It’s clearly after midnight, but there’s no sign of dawn quite yet. With the bright light that the moon casts on the streets and light breeze, Darcy slips her shoes on and throws Emily’s oversized jacket on over her nightclothes, grabbing her wand off the bedside table. Emily doesn’t notice Darcy sneak out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Darcy makes it to the bottom of the stairs, lost in the darkness. She lights the tip of her wand and it seems eerie being in the Leaky Cauldron with not a single soul in sight. It makes it easier to wander, however, with no one awake to catch her out of bed so late into the night. She half-expects Tom to still be manning the bar, but alas - it seems that even barkeeps sleep, too. She continues to creep around the first floor of the Leaky Cauldron.

“Darcy?”

She whips around at the sound of her name, wand held at the ready, her heart thumping painfully in her chest. She hesitates, the light from her wand illuminating Harry’s tired face. “God - Harry - I almost hexed you,” she whispers, trying to keep her voice even. Darcy lowers her wand. “What are you doing down here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says with a shrug, clearly not fazed that Darcy had her wand pointed at his heart about five seconds ago. “You too?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “Me too.”

“Want to go take a walk?”

Darcy smiles weakly at him. “Yeah, okay, kid.”

She leads him to the back room where the secret entrance to Diagon Alley sits, waiting to be opened. They’re quiet for a while - tired mostly - a cool breeze blows Darcy’s hair into her face and she has to continually brush it away. They walk slowly down the long street, towards Gringotts in the distance, all the shops closed for the night, all lights inside them extinguished. Except for a few light fixtures on the fronts of shops, it’s completely dark.

Harry digs his hands deep inside his pockets and the both of them stop outside Quality Quidditch Supplies as he takes a moment to admire the Firebolt. The window of the shop is plastered with wanted posters of Sirius Black, and all of the pictures are staring down at them, the only people in sight, and he’s screaming with a manic gleam in his eye that unsettles them both. Darcy’s eyelids are heavy with sleep, and she continues to stare at one of Sirius Black’s pictures, unable to tear her eyes away, thinking hard about the long and stringy hair, the uneven beard -

“Darcy? Did you hear me?”

“What?” Darcy quickly looks away from the picture and then towards Harry, who’s still looking at her, one eyebrow raised. “Sorry.”

“I asked you why you couldn’t sleep,” he repeats.

“Oh,” she shrugs, looking back at the Firebolt. “Emily woke me up.”

They walk away from the Firebolt, walking more slowly this time, looking mostly at the ground. “It seems - unreal - that this is the last year you’ll ever be at Hogwarts,” he mutters, sighing heavily after getting the words out. “Do you know what you want to do once you’re out?”

“Carla wants me to travel with her for a few years, gain some experience before going to work and settling down and all that,” Darcy chuckles. “But Emily wants me to join the Ministry with her. We’ve always fancied becoming Aurors and fighting crime or something like that.”

“And you’d rather go to the Ministry with Emily, wouldn’t you?” Harry asks.

“Yeah,” she whispers, “I would.”

Harry stops in the middle of the street, looking up with sad eyes. “You’re going to move away, aren’t you?” he says. “From Privet Drive?” And when she doesn’t answer, he adds, “Away from me?”

“I can’t stay forever, Harry.”

“You said you’d stay as long as I was at Hogwarts,” he says quickly. “You promised.”

“I know I did.”

“You can’t leave me alone with them.”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” she counters.

“You _promised_.”

“Harry, I said I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay?” Darcy snaps. “The school year hasn’t even started yet and we don’t know what’s going to happen. So quit asking about it.”

Harry grumbles under his breath.

* * *

Emily returns home a few days later after she finishes all her school shopping, exhausts herself of gossip, and makes sure to buy Harry a belated birthday present. This makes Harry feel incredibly appreciated and he makes sure to thank her several times for the brand new pair of shoes she decided to get him. After Harry finishes his goodbyes, Emily promises to meet Darcy at Platform 9 ¾ in a little while and leaves via Floo Network from the Leaky Cauldron.

Darcy can’t say she’s sorry to see Emily go - she’s quite looking forward to having her bed back. And sharing a dormitory all year with Emily will make up for the weeks spent apart during the summer holidays.

Incidentally, Darcy does receive a long letter back from Carla the day Emily leaves, describing the adventure she and her parents had in South Africa and Kenya over the summer, and while she’s sorry she isn’t able to visit Diagon Alley until they get back a few days before term from Tanzania, she’s looking forward to discussing Darcy and Harry’s narrow escape from the clutches of Uncle Vernon.

Harry and Darcy end up spending a lot of time together during the following week. Their favorite place to sit is the same table at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor they sat at the first day. Darcy “breaks in” her new cauldron, trying out potions that Snape had never gotten to the previous year. Some of the smells revolt Harry, but he ignores it, amazed at Darcy’s concentration and successful creations.

A few of their acquaintances stop to chat over the days, exchanging a few words, but never really staying to chat at length. The only people Darcy really wants to talk to, however, are her best friends, Emily and Carla - and Harry, of course. She’s getting antsy, itching to get back to Hogwarts, to ride the Hogwarts Express with her best friends and do nothing but laugh and joke and gossip and eat.

While Darcy adjusts well to unprecedented freedom, she begins to crave structure to her days, something other to do than sit outside an ice cream shop and brew potions or help Harry with his homework. She even starts waking up early to try and structure her own day, but around mid-afternoon on her first day of attempted planning, she gets too hot outside to do anything except relax under the shade of Florean Fortescue’s colorful umbrella.

She still continues to push her chair back on two legs while Harry tries to kick them out from under her, and once Florean threatens to glue the chair legs to the ground, Darcy mumbles to Harry, “I’ll be able to get it unstuck,” and Florean, overhearing her, smiles as he sends a jinx her way that makes her fall to the ground and double over with laughter. Real laughter. A laughter Harry has not heard from Darcy in years. The three of them laugh so hard they start crying and, as an apology for jinxing Darcy - even though she finds the entire thing hilarious - gives her the biggest ice cream sundae she’s ever seen. And to top the whole thing off, he doesn’t even charge her for it.

But she has to admit, it’s nice to not have Vernon or Petunia nagging in her ear. It’s nice not having to do chores almost all hours of the day. It’s nice being able to wake up whenever she wants to, and eat breakfast whenever she wants to, and she isn’t even yelled at when she accidentally spills coffee on the floor of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom just cleans it with a flick of his wand and flashes a warm grin at Darcy, letting her know that everything is all right.

Harry forgets all about his Hogsmeade form during these days he spends with Darcy, too happy to care about the idea of staying behind one weekend every so often. He’s too excited to be able to spend as much time with his sister as he wants, without one of the Dursleys telling him to “leave her alone and go do something useful”.

A little after a week of their hanging out together, Carla shows up to Diagon Alley with her parents in tow. Carla’s parents, both very talented with Transfiguration magic, are what Carla calls “field researchers.” They’re always traveling, especially over the summer, and sometimes during holidays, so Carla is never entirely sure whether or not she’s staying at Hogwarts over holidays. It’s because of them that Carla so values experiences and adventures because, unlike Emily who has tried for many years to rebel against her parents, Carla’s never thought of doing that with her’s. Carla appreciates her parents, and her parents are her biggest supporters.

Carla talks a lot, which Darcy doesn’t mind because most of the things she talks about are the things she’s seen with her parents while away on vacation. But Carla hates the word vacation - to her, it’s another “adventure”. She tells Darcy all about Kenya and about how it might be her favorite country to date. And Darcy remembers how excited Carla had been after her trip to the Wetlands in America one year over winter break.

They eat lunch together at the Leaky Cauldron, a medley of just about everything, picking off each other’s plates and sharing graciously - something Darcy, Carla, and Emily do almost every time they eat together. Carla starts to go on about how much different the food is in Kenya and how she had to learn to not ask about ingredients and just eat it or else she would have chickened out.

Suddenly, about a half hour into their lunch, Carla looks around, completely silent, eyes wide open. “Where’s Harry at?”

“What?” Darcy asks, shocked by her sudden change of subject. “Probably in Diagon Alley somewhere. Why?”

“Oh,” Carla shrugs. “I don’t know - I’m just used to him being around, I guess.”

Darcy doesn’t answer, but quickly slurps some of her beef stew.

“Have you given any serious thought to what you’re going to do outside of Hogwarts?” Carla asks again, finally exhausting herself of Kenya. “I mean, it’s your last year. Things are getting real now, aren’t they?”

“Emily and I’ve got a plan, but nothing is set in stone yet until we take our N.E.W.T.’s,” Darcy says. “I’m hoping we’ll both get top grades, but who knows -”

“Oh, shut up, Darcy,” Carla jokes. “You and Emily have done nothing but dedicate yourself to your schoolwork for years. You’re trying to tell me that you don’t _think_ you’ll get top grades?”

“Hey, this is a lot of pressure on my shoulders right now,” Darcy replies with raised eyebrows. “Who knows what the N.E.W.T.’s are actually going to be like, anyway? Besides, weren’t you freaking out about your O.W.L.’s?”

“Yeah, but in hindsight, I probably could have studied more,” Carla laughs. “My sister said her N.E.W.T.’s weren’t bad. She said as long as you paid attention in class all seven years of school, you’ll be fine.”

“That makes it seem like she’s downplaying it a lot,” Darcy says suspiciously.

Carla grins. “My sister only got two N.E.W.T.’s, so you probably shouldn’t listen to her advice, anyway.”

“What is your sister doing now?”

“She’s a journalist,” Carla explains, as if she’s explained this a thousand times to a thousand different people. “She travels around a lot, just like mum and dad. Right now, I think she’s in Borneo. Been there for about three months now, so she must really like it.”

“Don’t you write each other?”

“Sometimes,” Carla says. “But you know we’ve never been that close. She does send the whole family a lot of the pictures she’s taken. One of her stories was even published in a Muggle newspaper - and they didn’t even realize that she’s a witch! She’s made really great connections with other wizarding families, so I’m quite jealous there. When you’re done with this year, I could give her your address and have you write to you. Maybe you could go along with her on some trips?”

“Maybe,” Darcy says halfheartedly. “I’ve been wanting to go into the Ministry for a long time, Carla, you know that.”

“Well, maybe when you’re not being a big shot in the Ministry, you can come travel with me.”

“We’ll see.”

Carla’s parents join them for the rest of their lunch. Carla’s mother is just like her daughter - big, curly, black hair, stick thin figure, and almond shaped brown eyes. Even her skin tone is the same exact tone as Carla’s. Her father, on the other hand, is exactly the opposite of Carla. He’s a tall man with short and sleek black hair, arms that are toned and muscular from obvious physical labor, and a large nose in comparison with Carla’s.

“Good to see you again, Darcy,” her father says, shaking Darcy’s hand.

She smiles up at him. “Good to see you, Mr. Thompson,” Darcy turns to Carla’s mother, “and Mrs. Thompson.”

“Don’t be a stranger next summer,” Mrs. Thompson smiles, wrapping an arm around Carla’s shoulder. “Come and visit sometime, okay?”

“Sure,” Darcy replies.

“See you in a few days," Carla says.

Once Carla is gone and Harry is sure of it, he continues to bother Darcy even more, but she doesn’t seem to mind him being around so often. He makes her look at the Firebolt with him, giving her details and rumors that he’s picked up from older kids talking about it. But mostly, they continue to eat ice cream sundaes outside their now favorite building in Diagon Alley, and Harry doesn’t care that it’s Darcy’s last year, or that she may be leaving Privet Drive soon, or that Sirius Black’s face stares at them from the hundreds of posters put up around them.

All he cares about is that he’s with Darcy now, eating ice cream, and laughing, and reminiscing. All he cares about is that Darcy looks beautiful with a ridiculous smile on her face, and how he’s always thought her to be beautiful, and how he wants her to know it but he’s too embarrassed it say it out loud. So he tries to find a way to say it without being too forward. So he settles with -

“You remind me of mum.”

Darcy continues to smile, obviously touched by this. “Why do you think that?”

“You look like her,” he replies, his cheeks reddening. “And I’ve always thought mum was pretty, haven’t you?”

Darcy scoffs, understanding what Harry’s trying to get at now. “Yes, I have,” she replies, ruffling his already messy hair. “And thank you.”

Harry looks away from her for a few minutes, pretending to mess with his shoelace. Darcy watches him carefully, smirking.

"Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Why don't I sign your Hogsmeade form?"

Harry's heart flutters in his chest and his excitement shows. "Are you sure it'll work? They'll accept it?"

"Well - no, I'm not entirely sure, especially since I'm your sister and not your real guardian," she thinks, "but at least you'll have a signature. And it's worth a shot, isn't it?"

Harry wastes no time in running back to the Leaky Cauldron and grabbing his form. He's back in only two minutes, sweating and red-faced. Darcy laughs as he hands her a quill and quickly fumbles with a bottle of ink that he had stuffed in his back pocket. Finally, he unstoppers it and pushes it in front of Darcy, splashing ink onto the table. Darcy dips the quill into the ink bottle dramatically, looking at Harry with a smile before signing her name in neat and curly handwriting.

 


	4. Chapter 4

On the last day of summer holiday, Darcy finds a wonderful surprise eating breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron. The Weasleys’ are greeting Harry each in turn, giving hugs and handshakes, exchanging grins and laughs. Darcy skips down the stairs to greet them and is glad to find Hermione seated at the table, as well. Darcy makes her way to each Weasley and Hermione, receiving hugs from all except Percy, who settles with a handshake. When at last Darcy finds herself in front of Mr. Weasley, he pulls her into a tight embrace, kissing the top of her head before letting go.

“Darcy Potter,” he says fondly, squeezing her shoulder. “Doing well?”

“Very,” Darcy smiles. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Weasley.”

“Here - sit, sit!” He waves his wand in a large circle and a chair comes sliding towards them, stopping right beside his own. Darcy sits down in the chair, looking around at everyone chatting loudly around the table. “Anxious? Excited? Frightened?”

“I don’t know what I’m feeling,” Darcy sighs, unable to wipe the smile off her face. She reaches for some eggs before allowing Fred to place a few sausages on her plate a few places down. “Mostly excited, I think. Emily and Carla visited a little bit ago.”

“Did they?” Mr. Weasley asks, sounding as if the idea of Emily and Carla visiting is the most interesting thing in the entire world at that moment. “Excellent. Emily still interested in working for the Ministry?”

“Yes, sir,” Darcy replies, a mouth full of food. “However, I don’t quite think she’s interested in, er - _your_ department.”

“It’s fascinating - what isn’t there to be interested in?” Mr. Weasley scoffs. “You understand, of course.”

Darcy looks at him awkwardly, but he just smiles at her.

The rest of the day, Harry and Darcy accompany the Weasley family and Hermione around Diagon Alley as they purchase the rest of their school things. Fred and George entertain Darcy with crude jokes and stories about their family trip to Egypt that summer. Ron loudly talks about the Firebolt most of the time, and keeps making side comments about how awful his rat has been looking lately. Hermione complains, as well, mostly about how she doesn’t have a pet of her own and how she really has been thinking about making the brave jump to pet ownership.

After a while, Darcy hangs back with Mr. Weasley, who often doesn’t even go into the shops, instead hanging around outside the entrance, hands deep in his pockets and waiting patiently for his family. She sits on a bench outside Flourish and Blotts, crossing her arms over her chest and closing her eyes, basking in the bright sunshine.

“Going to keep out of trouble this year, I hope?” Mr. Weasley asks suddenly. He’s peeking into the window of Flourish and Blotts, checking on his family. He smiles impishly at Darcy and she flushes, shrugging her shoulders.

Last year, Darcy’s sixth year, Professor McGonagall had caught Darcy and several of her friends in the Prefects’ Bathroom, all taking shots of firewhiskey and sitting in the elongated tub. Knowing that the Dursleys’ would not be bothered by a stern letter from her, McGonagall wrote to Mr. Weasley, explaining the entire situation and describing the punishment to him - which happened to be a month of tedious detentions.

The day after McGonagall wrote to Mr. Weasley, he had sent Darcy a Howler at breakfast, his disappointed voice echoing throughout the Great Hall. Emily had laughed the whole time, and even Darcy couldn’t help but to smile. Professor McGonagall, however, had seemed very pleased at her decision to notify Mr. Weasley about her ‘alcoholic tendencies’ as Professor McGonagall had put it. Although, Darcy was just glad that it wasn’t Mrs. Weasley’s voice embarrassing her in front of the entire school.

She finally decides on an answer. “No promises.”

“That’s my girl,” he replies distractedly. “You’re still young - you have plenty of time to get into trouble. Focus on your classes this year, yeah? This year is very important.”

Darcy smiles weakly. “Getting into trouble is much more fun.”

* * *

Darcy ends up accompanying Hermione into the Magical Menagerie, considering buying a pet herself. They walk around for a few minutes while Ron gets some rat tonic for his pet rat, Scabbers. Harry and Ron leave promptly afterwards, as Scabbers scurries out the door quickly, evading capture. The girls giggle, looking at the different kinds of animals huddling against the walls of their cages. Darcy looks at the cats first, then at some reptiles, then at the owls.

The owls ruffle their wings inside their cages, some of them flying around the ceiling of the shop. Darcy strokes a screech owl’s chest and it hoots appreciatively, but Darcy is interrupted by something landing on her shoulder.

She jumps as talons clamp gently against her skin and she sees the owl that’s landed on her. A beautiful, pale barn owl looks directly at her and Darcy reaches her hand out to stroke it. It nips affectionately at her fingers and within minutes, the owl is still perched on her shoulder and Darcy is paying the witch behind the counter for her new owl, which has yet to be named, but she does find out that it’s a male.

Hermione walks out with a fluffy orange cat that purrs in her arms, long bushy tail brushing against Darcy’s arm the whole time. Darcy keeps her owl perched on her arm, swinging his cage back and forth by her side. Her owl nuzzles the top of his head into Darcy’s chin and she laughs. The girls debate for a long time about a name for her owl, but eventually, they settle on one that they both agree on: Max.

Upon returning to the Leaky Cauldron, Darcy introduces Max to Harry and their friends, and Max takes to them immediately. They all chuckle and giggle as Max soars around the Leaky Cauldron, finally landing on Darcy’s arm and rubbing his face against her head. He’s a loveable owl, and Darcy even lets him sit on the arm of her chair for dinner. Every so often, she slips a piece a food to Max and he eats it graciously, nipping at her fingers for more food. Darcy complies each and every time.

Hermione’s new ginger cat, Crookshanks, circles her and Darcy’s legs during their seemingly endless dinner feast, rubbing up against their pants, purring loudly, much to Ron’s disapproval. Several times, when Crookshanks jumps up onto Hermione’s lap for a few moments, Ron flashes her a disapproving look. The mood is light, however, and Hermione is not discouraged by Ron’s constant muttering.

Everyone laughs and jokes loudly, as if they’ve been apart for four years instead of a few weeks over summer. Darcy and Harry watch Max and Hedwig fly around the Leaky Cauldron together, knocking over someone’s tankard and hurriedly flying out of the window to hunt before anyone can catch them. They throw chunks of food at each other - until Mrs. Weasley quickly shuts that down - and Mr. Weasley even drinks quite a few glasses of mead before turning bright red and resorting to just water.

Things are finally exactly like they should be and Darcy can’t keep from smiling. Every so often, her eyes move around the table, looking at everyone sitting around her. Even when Percy looks up at her, she can’t help but to beam at him, which makes Percy fidget in his seat and look away quickly.

“I want to make a toast,” Mr. Weasley says, standing up suddenly, causing his plate and silverware to rattle against the table. He holds up his glass of water and it sloshes over the sides, spilling onto his hand and down his arm. “To our own Percy and Darcy - good luck during your final year!”

Darcy blushes and clinks glasses with everyone around her as Mr. Weasley sits down again. It isn’t long until Tom the barkeep waves his wand and clears the table they’re sitting at. Within minutes, all kinds of desserts are placed in front of them and Darcy sighs contentedly at the slice of dark chocolate cake in front of her.

“Aren’t you glad I blew up Marge?” Harry asks her in a whisper, grinning as he watches Fred and George wrestle each other to the ground. Mrs. Weasley runs over, separating them with magic, and they both climb to their seats, sweating and smiling. “We wouldn’t be here.”

Darcy looks at Harry for a long time, feeling Crookshanks’s tail sweep over her kneecap. “I’m not telling you I approve, if that’s what you’re fishing for.” She turns away from him, looking now at Hermione, who’s talking with Ginny secretively.

Harry just smiles at her.

“Fine,” Darcy replies with a roll of her eyes. “I guess it was pretty funny.”

That night, Darcy finishes her packing while in her room. Her trunk, bursting with folded clothing and robes, extra quills and ink bottles, and spare parchment that she never used the year before. She can still hear loud voices coming from downstairs, and Mrs. Weasley eventually shepherds all her children and Hermione up the stairs for bed. Darcy can hear them walk past her door, stomping loudly on the wood, still carrying on.

A few moments later, after everyone has settled down outside her room, there’s a knock on her door. Darcy expects Harry and calls, “Come in!” But to her surprise, it’s not Harry that enters - it’s Mr. Weasley. She stands at the sight of him and he shuts the door behind him, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his shirt.

“Darcy,” he smiles a small smile, looking up in the corner of her room, where Max is carefully watching him. “Do you have a moment?”

“Sure,” she replies. Darcy moves over and sits on her bed, tucking her legs under herself. Mr. Weasley takes a seat as well, glancing quickly towards Max again. “Is something wrong, Mr. Weasley?”

“I’ve been working long hours at the Ministry,” he replies.

Darcy shifts. Even though he seemed a bit drunk just a little while ago, Mr. Weasley now seems completely sober. The faint pink glow is absent from his face and he’s stopped sweating, though he still looks warm. He takes his vest off and puts it on his lap. “Does it have anything to do with Sirius Black?”

“I’m afraid it has everything to do with Sirius Black,” Mr. Weasley says, finally looking at Darcy, his eyebrows furrowed.

Darcy pauses. “Has the Ministry had much luck with Sirius Black?”

“No,” he says flatly. “Unfortunately, we haven’t had any luck lately. I don’t know that the Ministry is doing enough, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Of course.” Darcy hesitates, waiting for Mr. Weasley to go on, but he seems to be waiting to be prompted. “What would you suggest they do?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I just don’t like the way they’ve been handling things, and I fear things are only going to get worse.”

Darcy pulls a pillow into her lap, hugging it tightly. “What do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but -”

“You’ll tell me anyway?”

“I always do, don’t I?” Mr. Weasley forces a smile. “Though, Molly would go mad if she knew the things I’ve told you.”

“Why would she?”

Mr. Weasley looks her over. “Because these are private things - things the Ministry doesn’t want a seventeen-year-old Hogwarts student to know. Things the Ministry doesn't want any outsiders to know.” Mr. Weasley stops suddenly, staring at the door, as if several Ministry workers are standing outside, ears to the door. Darcy watches him, heart starting to pump quickly, nerves jangling, not used to such a paranoid Mr. Weasley. “I’m afraid the best way to say this to you is to be incredibly blunt.”

She’s quiet, leaning closer to him, needing to know this deep dark secret that the Ministry is trying to keep.

“Sirius Black is after Harry.”

Shock runs through Darcy’s veins and she can feel the color drain from her face. In one single second, Mr. Weasley has confirmed her worst fear, confirmed that this last year will be another challenge. For a moment, she feels slightly lightheaded. She must look it, too, because Mr. Weasley holds out a hand as though to steady her. Darcy ignores his gesture and stands up, beginning to pace back and forth, grabbing chunks of her hair and forcing herself not to start crying out of sheer frustration.

“I’m not telling you this to scare you, Darcy. Believe me - that’s the last thing I want to do,” Mr. Weasley says again, frowning. “I’m telling you this because I’m worried about Harry and I don’t know that he could handle information like -”

“How do you know?” Darcy asks quickly, needing to confirm this. “Who told you? Where is Sirius Black now?”

Mr. Weasley answers almost immediately. “Fudge heard Black talking in his sleep. Most of the Ministry knows, but they won’t print it because they don’t want this story to get out. No one knows where Sirius Black is right now, but we all think he’s going to return to Hogwarts.”

“And he could get into Hogwarts? Even with Dumbledore there? Even with all the protection he’s placed on Hogwarts?”

“He broke out of Azkaban, didn’t he?” Mr. Weasley asks solemnly. “And that’s supposed to be impossible.”

“Does Dumbledore know?”

“Yes, Dumbledore knows.”

“So what is he doing about it?”

Mr. Weasley grimaces and Darcy immediately stops pacing, looking closely at him. He clears his throat and sits up a little straighter. “Dumbledore has authorized the Ministry to station the guards of Azkaban around Hogwarts.”

Darcy scoffs, unbelieving. “Dementors?” she whispers. “What about Harry? Does he know any of this?”

“If Molly doesn’t wish me to tell you all this, what makes you think she would want Harry to know?”

“But Harry has to know,” Darcy protests. “He has a right to this knowledge! He needs to be able to defend himself - to - to - be on his guard!”

“I agree with you, Darcy, whole-heartedly, but armed with this information and the fact that -” he stops and thinks hard for a moment.

“What?” Darcy prompts, narrowing her eyes. “The fact that _what_?”

Mr. Weasley stands up, putting his vest back on, and moves closer to Darcy. She can tell he’s troubled, but she doesn’t speak, needing to know what Mr. Weasley has to say. “Don’t let Harry go looking for Black. He’ll listen to you, but I need you promise me, that you’ll try to prevent it at all costs.”

“Why would Harry go looking for Sirius Black?” she asks.

“The same reason Harry went looking for the Sorcerer’s Stone. The same reason he went looking for the Chamber of Secrets. It’s no secret that Harry is _curious_ \- too curious sometimes - and - and people might try to feed you information, but you mustn’t listen to them, all right? The most important thing is that Harry stays far away from Sirius Black.”

“Mr. Weasley,” Darcy says quietly. “You’re scaring me. What information would people try to give me?”

“Arthur? Arthur!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice booms in the hallway and Mr. Weasley looks at the bedroom door. “Where are you?”

“I can’t say anything more,” he says in a low voice, grasping Darcy’s arms and looking her in the eye. “Just promise me that you’ll make sure Harry is safe.”

“I promise.”

“That’s my girl.”

“ _Arthur_?” Her voice sounds worried now. Before anyone can say another word, the door to Darcy’s room opens quickly, and Mrs. Weasley’s eyes flicker from her husband’s face, to Darcy’s. “What are you doing in here, Arthur?” She sounds suspicious of something, but Darcy doesn’t think it polite to ask why, so she doesn’t say anything at all.

“Just having a quick chat, Molly,” Mr. Weasley says cheerfully, patting Darcy’s cheek and walking over to his wife, who’s standing in the threshold. “I’ve been hoping to convince her to work in my department at work, of course.”

“Alone? Not something you could’ve discussed over dinner? Or a letter, perhaps?”

Darcy finds it strange that Mrs. Weasley sounds so wary about Mr. Weasley talking alone with her. She’s suddenly under the impression that Mrs. Weasley knows exactly what they were talking about. She watches as Mr. Weasley escorts Mrs. Weasley out of the bedroom, without looking over his shoulder at Darcy once.

When the door is shut, Darcy fumbles to grab her wand off the bedside table and she locks the door without moving. Once she hears the footsteps of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley die away down the stairs, she exhales loudly, stumbling back towards the bed and falling onto it. She breathes heavily through her fingers, looking around for anything to do that might calm her down. Even Max steers clear of her, hooting before darting out the window into the clear night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, halfway through this chapter my computer broke - sorry for the delay!!

“We’ll write to you about Christmas this year, and good luck in all of your classes,” Mrs. Weasley rambles, pulling Darcy into a tight hug as the Hogwarts Express blows its horn. Steam billows onto the platform, where people are scattering and scrambling to give last minute goodbyes and make sure they haven’t forgotten anything. The rest of the Weasley children are already jumping onto the train and, behind Mrs. Weasley, Emily and Carla wait for Darcy. Carla checks her watch constantly, but Emily busies herself by chatting to a fourth year Slytherin girl with a hairless cat. 

“Thank you,” Darcy mutters, trying to pull away from Mrs. Weasley.

Mrs. Weasley only tightens her grip and traps Darcy against her bosom. “I’ve always known you were a good girl - I’ve always known you were going to go somewhere with your life and I’m so proud of you -” Real, fat tears begin to fall from Mrs. Weasley’s face and Darcy squirms uncomfortably. Mrs. Weasley’s tears drip from her cheeks onto Darcy’s forehead.

“Mrs. Weasley - I’m not dying, you know -”

“Please don’t get into any trouble this year, okay? Focus on your classes and your N.E.W.T.’s and I know you’ll do well -”

“Mrs. Weasley, the train’s about to leave -”

“And don’t forget about us when you’re some big, famous Auror!”

“ _ Mrs. Weasley  _ -”

“Always remember that you’re welcome at our home whenever -”

“My friends -”

“If there’s anything we can do for you -”

“Molly!” Mr. Weasley, seemingly out of nowhere, pries Darcy and Mrs. Weasley apart. He smiles apologetically at Darcy and gives her one last hug and kiss on the head before sending her off to her friends, who are looking nervously at the Hogwarts Express. From over her shoulder, Darcy hears Mr. Weasley call after her, “And  _ no drinking _ !”

Darcy rolls her eyes as Emily and Carla laugh heartily. Mrs. Weasley blows kisses to her children, who sink low in their seats, avoiding eye contact with their mother. Darcy pulls her trunk and Max’s cage onto the train, which lurches as it begins to move. The doors close right as Darcy gathers her things and Emily leads the three of them to an empty compartment that Emily has already claimed by throwing her jacket and scarf and trunk on the seats.

“Well,” Emily grunts as she hoists her trunk in the compartment above, “it’s all happening, isn’t it?”

“For you, at least,” Carla sneers, sitting on the seat opposite Emily and stretching her legs out. Darcy sits next to Emily, allowing Max out of his cage to perch on Carla’s calf. He shifts, then falls asleep, swaying slightly as the train rattles along. “I like your owl, Darcy. What’s his name?”

“Max,” Darcy says.

Max opens his eyes at his name, but when Darcy doesn’t say anything further, he closes them again, resting once more.

“He’s smart, huh?” Carla continues, stroking Max’s chest. “Wish I had one.”

“No, you don’t,” Emily scoffs. “They stink. You better not keep his cage in our dormitory.” She narrows her eyes at Darcy, then looks quickly at Max. “He can stay in the owlery with the other birds.”

“His cage isn’t going to stink - it’ll be clean because he can go wherever he pleases.”

“Look, I’m just saying - I don’t want that thing near me - oh!”

Max, apparently understanding Emily’s hesitation, suddenly hops over to Emily’s side, looking up at her with his wide, dark eyes. He seems to be waiting for Emily to pet him, and he nudges her indignantly. Emily reaches a hand out, pauses for a moment, and then quickly strokes the owl.

“Bit creepy, isn’t he?” she whispers, still petting Max. “Ouch!” Max snaps at her fingers and Emily draws her hand away, looking outraged.

As Max flutters back over to Carla’s leg, Darcy sits up straighter. “Mr. Weasley told me some interesting information,” she says, lowering her voice. Emily forgets about her bleeding finger and leans in closer, raising an eyebrow. Carla purses her lips, folding her arms over her chest. “He says there’ll be dementors at Hogwarts - for our protection, of course.”

Carla’s eyes widen. “How did the Ministry ever get the authorization to station them there?”

“Mr. Weasley said Dumbledore allowed it,” Darcy continues, shrugging her shoulders.

“I think it’s dangerous,” Emily says in a very matter-of-fact way. “Who’s to say the dementors are actually going to do what the Ministry says?”

“Seems like a bit of a… grandstand - doesn’t it? I mean - all this just for Sirius Black? Fudge is just trying to make it seem like he’s really serious about student safety... probably to make up for the fact a prisoner escaped from Azkaban right under his nose.” Carla nods, talking more to herself than to Darcy and Emily. “I can’t think of any other reason that Fudge would station dementors at Hogwarts.”

Darcy hesitates. She looks at Carla for a long time, leaning back in her seat. Emily considers Carla’s theory, thinking hard and looking out of the window, concentrating as hard as she can. Darcy holds her tongue, not wanting to tell her friends the real reason the dementors are being stationed at Hogwarts.

Most of the journey is spent in silence. Carla tires of thinking of dementors and reads almost the entire trip, Max sleeping on her leg. Emily rests her head against the window, closing her eyes and throwing her legs over Darcy’s lap. Eventually, Emily falls asleep, and Darcy opens her own book, her eyelids heavy and breathing slow. She rubs her eyes and sees Carla yawn behind her book.

The weather gets more dismal with each passing moment. Rain begins to hammer the top of the Hogwarts Express and the sky darkens rather quicker than normal. It gets so dark, it becomes near impossible to see the treeline in the distance. Younger kids run down the corridor, laughing loudly and stomping their feet at the train rattles onward. The lamps are now lit, providing barely enough light to read. Darcy’s eyes hurt from straining, so she closes her book and looks at Carla, who does the same thing.

Carla moves her leg, forcing Max to leave, and she stretches, muttering under her breath about Max. Darcy opens Max’s cage and he flutters inside, nuzzling his face in his feathers before falling asleep once more. Carla watches Darcy carefully, tucking her legs underneath her and looking out of the window, glancing every so often at Emily, whose mouth is hanging open.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Carla asks suddenly. “My mum and dad are planning on going to Spain - maybe they’d let you come with us.”

“Oh,” Darcy smiles weakly. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll probably just go to the Weasleys’ this year. Mrs. Weasley said she’d write about it.”

“Right,” Carla nods, but Darcy notices her disappointment.

“I could visit over summer,” Darcy suggests, appearing a bit more upbeat. She sits up straighter. “Now that I’ll finally be free of the poor bastards at Privet Drive.”

“You’d leave Harry?”

Darcy hesitates, the small smile fading from her face. She hadn’t expected such a bold question from Carla. Carla takes Darcy’s silence to mean she’s overstepped, and she looks away from Darcy, back out the window, looking extremely focused on the distant shadows. Darcy wishes she could answer, but she isn’t sure what to say, so she just says nothing at all.

It’s not long after that that the train begins to slow. Darcy feels a wave of relief wash over her, but when Emily awakes suddenly due to the train lurching to a stop, she looks around the compartment, then back outside the window. Emily stands, Darcy and Carla both watching her, and she puts her hands on her hips. “We’re not at Hogwarts,” she says, “are we? We’ve still got a little bit to go, haven’t we?”

Now that something has been said, Darcy feels dread overcome her. She looks out of the compartment door, trying to see down the corridor, but it seems that everyone has returned to their seats. “I wonder if someone’s ill,” Darcy shrugs, smashing her face against the glass, trying to see as far down the train as possible. “Or the train’s broken down.”

Emily snorts, nose pushed up against the window. “Darcy, this train is magical - it didn’t just break down.”

“Hey,” Darcy retorts, raising her eyebrows. “I’m just throwing some suggestions out there.”

Finally, the train stops completely, their luggage falling onto the ground, and the three girls look at each other. Darcy isn’t sure what to make of their expressions, but Carla is tensed up, huddled in the corner of the compartment, watching the windows and door. At this point, people outside their compartment begin to look curious, as well. Darcy opens the compartment door and sees a Slytherin girl, Sarah, she once had Herbology with.

“What’s going on?” Darcy asks Sarah, but Sarah just shakes her head and shrugs. Darcy sighs heavily and looks to her right, where another fellow Gryffindor boy is looking around with furrowed brows. “Hey, you! Why are we -”

Before she can finish her sentence, all the lamps are extinguished and people are screaming and talking loudly amongst themselves. Carla yelps behind Darcy and she turns around, accidentally trodding on Emily’s feet. Darcy throws her hands out, trying to find her friends, and she grabs onto Emily’s hand and Carla’s ankle.

“What the  _ hell _ is going on?” Emily growls.

“Someone’s coming on the train.” Carla’s voice is shaky and quiet. “I can see them.”

“Who?  _ Who is it _ , Carla?” Emily asks. She rips her hand from Darcy’s and moves loudly around back to her seat. “Oh, shit - I see them - those aren’t people -”

Darcy flings herself at the window, but by the time she looks out of it, there’s nothing there. “What do you mean they’re not people?” she whispers to Emily. “What did you see?”

An intense cold washes over all three of them and Darcy feels goosebumps rise on her arms and the hair on the back of her neck stands up. “ _ Lumos _ ,” Emily rasps and, by the light at the tip of her wand, Darcy can see her worried expression. Emily scrambles across the seat, nearly climbing into Darcy’s lap, and the two of them watch the corridor, breathing heavily. Carla watches them, frozen in fear.

The cold intensifies and Darcy feels paralyzed as a hooded shadow makes its way down the train corridor, occasionally stopping at compartments and peering inside. Emily lowers her wand, but keeps it firmly grasped in her hand, and when the shadowy figure reaches their compartment, everyone holds their breath.

A scabbed and decaying hand, long fingered and bony, slowly opens their compartment door and Emily drops her wand at the sight of it. The light goes out and Darcy chokes, a heavy weight pressing on her chest. Everything around her seems to be so far away - Emily’s hand is nowhere to be found, and Darcy can’t get to her wand in time… everything has slowed down and Darcy’s head is filled with images she’s spent years trying to get out of her head -

A flash of green light and a woman with red hair… a scene of destruction around her… a pale, snakelike face looking down at her and her brother greedily… cold, high-pitched laughter and another flash of green light… She can’t think of anything else - the rattling breathing of the dementor fills her ears and Darcy silently begs for it to stop… All she can see are the repressed memories - all the progress she had made is gone and she screams madly.

As soon as she screams, the heavy cold lifts. It’s still much chillier in the compartment than usual, but the dementor sweeps away from them, leaving the compartment door cracked only slightly. At once, Emily grabs her wand off the floor, whispers “ _ Lumos _ ” again, and touches Darcy’s shoulder, steadying her. Darcy takes a look around the compartment, heart pumping faster than ever, cold sweat dripping down her forehead.

Carla is still in the corner of the compartment, shaking violently, hands tangled in her hair, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Emily looks slightly green in the face, her chest is heaving beneath her sweater, and she stares Darcy in the eyes, looking rather anxious.

“Are you all right, Darcy?” Emily asks quietly, shaking Darcy’s shoulders. “You look terrible.”

Lights flicker back on in the compartment and Emily puts her wand away. Darcy finally is able to take a look at herself in the reflection of the window - the train is still at a standstill and Darcy tries to look outside to see if the dementors have left. That’s when Darcy notices how terrible she really does looks - she’s white as a ghost, sweating, with dark circles around her eyes, looking quite like a raccoon. Without warning, Darcy retches all over the floor of the compartment, not once, not twice, but three times. Emily dry heaves beside her and Carla gags at the sight of it. And it’s then that she remembers that the three of them are not the only ones on the train -

“Harry -” Darcy chokes, getting to her feet, but stumbling. Emily holds her up by the arm. “I have to go check on Harry -”

“He’s fine,” Emily replies. “I’m sure he’s fine, Darcy - just sit down and relax for a minute, would you?”

“No - no, I have to - I have to see Harry -”

Emily looks at Carla and shrugs. “We’ll be back.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” Darcy snaps.

“Shut up,” Emily smiles weakly, her face still sickly. “You know I do.”

They wait for the train to start moving again, a sure sign that the dementors are gone. Once everything seems back to normal - despite the chill lingering in the air - Darcy and Emily take off, searching for the compartment containing Harry. Emily supports her the entire way, fully aware that Darcy can walk by herself, but knowing it’s nice to help her anyway. They look in every compartment, scaring a lot of the younger kids who think they’re dementors returning to haunt them.

Finally, at the very end of one of the train cars, seemingly a million miles from where Darcy and Emily’s compartment is, they find Harry. Surprisingly, Harry’s half sitting, half lying on the ground. Hermione, Ron, Neville Longbottom, and Ginny Weasley are still sitting on the seats, pale faced and trembling. And bending over Harry, a hunk of chocolate in his hand, is an older man that does not fit in with the scene.

“Harry!” Darcy kneels beside Harry, grabbing his hand and pulling him to a sitting position. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“He only fainted,” says the man beside her with a small smile. “He’s fine now - well, he will be once he eats the chocolate I’ve given him.”

Harry holds out his hand and shows Darcy the block of chocolate in his palm, which is already melting over his skin. “You fainted?” she continues, frowning. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here quicker.”

“I’m fine,” Harry grimaces, looking up behind Darcy and noticing Emily standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed. “Did you -?”

Darcy shakes her head slowly.

A loud  _ snap!  _ in her ear makes her jump and Darcy turns to her right to see the man breaking up the slab of chocolate into smaller pieces for everyone. He passes the chocolate around the compartment, even reaching up to give one to Emily, who takes it graciously, and then he holds the last piece out for Darcy, who is hesitant to take it for reasons unknown to herself.

Darcy and the man look at each other for a minute. Finally, Darcy takes the chocolate, but puts it up on the seat, meaning to eat it later. But the man laughs, catching her attention again. “You should eat it,” he says. “It’ll make you feel better.”

She looks around the compartment and notices that every person who has eaten the chocolate seems to have regained color in their face. The only people who haven’t eaten their chocolate are Darcy and Harry. They glance at each other for a moment, wary of the entire situation. Finally, Darcy can’t help herself.

“Who are you?” she asks.

The man clears his throat and stands up. Darcy does the same, cocking an eyebrow. “Your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” he replies quickly, holding out his hand. “Professor Remus Lupin.”

Darcy looks at his hand and finally takes it, shaking it slowly. As soon as their hands touch, a warmth spreads through Darcy’s arm, infecting her entire body. She can’t stop looking into his face - he looks so familiar, but Darcy can’t recall ever hearing his name or seeing his face. The dementor has scrambled her thoughts, so perhaps she just isn’t thinking straight.

Relatively handsome with light brown hair that doesn't seem to know which way to fall, his face is kind and he strikes Darcy as someone incredibly trustworthy. Though his face is lined, giving her the impression of a long, hard life despite how young he looks. What really strikes her as unusual is how  _normal_ he looks. It's clear that he's not hiding Voldemort on the back of his head, he doesn't seem to be a complete fraud, and he doesn't seem to be uncomfortable around students (Darcy's first Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had terrible stage fright and got hiccups every time she was nervous in front of the class - it was great fun to laugh at her, but come exam time, Darcy began to regret every time she laughed instead of listened).

They continue to shake hands for a long few seconds, while everyone around them watches awkwardly. Lupin smiles warmly at her, waiting for her to introduce herself. “Darcy Potter,” she finally says and, while they still shake hands, she adds, “Have we met?”

Lupin chuckles. “I don’t think so.”

Darcy pulls her hand away and she shivers, forgetting how cold she had been only a minute ago. Lupin points to her piece of chocolate and grins wearily. “I promise it’ll make you feel better,” he says again. “You don’t look so great.”

“C’mon Darcy, eat the chocolate,” Emily sighs. “It’s not that bad.”

Darcy, if only to stop everyone from asking her to eat it, eats her chocolate. The same warmth that touching Lupin’s hand provided now floods through her body again and she almost asks for a second piece, but Lupin hands one to her before she has to ask. She scarfs it down and Harry finally takes a bite of his own, appeasing Lupin.

“We’ll be at Hogwarts soon,” Lupin announces to the compartment.

Everyone looks rather relieved, but Darcy feels a pit form in her stomach. If dementors are going to be stationed at school - if they’re going to be in such close proximity all the time - how many more times is she going to have to relive that memory? How many more times will she have to see her mother’s face, blank and cold and dead? How many more times will she have to see Voldemort looking directly at her? And how long will it take her to forget all over again?

  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate that I haven't updated sooner, but honestly I hate writing on my fiance's computer because I live for the ~aesthetic~ and this laptop just doesn't give it to me. Plus I have a two-year-old, so cut me some slack. Hope y'all enjoy!

Darcy, Emily, and Carla are some of the last students to exit the Hogwarts Express. Muttering amongst themselves about having to share a carriage with other students, Darcy tries to find Harry or his friends to share one with them so they won’t have to be with anyone else. After a few minutes, Carla pulls Darcy towards the remaining carriages, climbing into an empty one. Darcy sighs and watches the Thestral pulling their carriage snort and dig its hooves into the soft earth beneath it. When the carriage sways with added weight, Darcy turns quickly to see who it is that will be sharing with them. To her surprise, it’s Professor Lupin, giving all three of them a small smile as he takes a seat beside Carla. 

Carla looks him up and down and Lupin gets comfortable before introducing himself to her. She shakes his hand for only a second before looking at her friends, sighing heavily, and looking out at the grounds through the carriage’s windows.

The carriage ride is awkward and quiet for a few minutes. The quiet presses on Darcy like a heavy blanket. Darcy had planned on using this time to gossip freely about other people, but she thinks that with a professor in tow, maybe it’s not such a great idea. She watches the other carriages ahead of them, moving slower than usual, all the while keeping an eye out for more dementors. Lupin seems to feel equally uncomfortable, and he clasps his hands together in his lap, looking around at everyone.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

No one answers. Darcy turns to see who Professor Lupin is talking to, but is met by Emily’s fiery stare, her eyebrows raised as if expecting an answer from her friend. Darcy fidgets and finds that Lupin is looking directly at her. “Oh - me?” she says, clearing her throat and sitting up straighter. “Fine - I’m fine, thank you. The chocolate helped.”

“Good.”

They look at each other for a little bit longer and Darcy sizes him up. Lupin looks away, out towards the castle. Darcy, Emily, and Carla exchange meaningful looks, finally shrugging their shoulders, knowing that their gossip will just have to wait until the morning. They all look out of the windows at the grounds, the carriage tossing them about, the thestral slowing every few minutes to get situated.

It isn’t until Darcy’s eyes tire of staring at the thestral’s silky black tail that she looks away, chancing another glance at Lupin. She narrows her eyes, thinking hard, and Lupin notices her gaze, looking at her with a single raised eyebrow. He looks to Carla nervously, but she doesn’t seem to be paying much attention.

“Have I done something?” he asks, chuckling quietly.

“No - I just -” Darcy sighs, defeated. She crosses one leg over her other, leaning back in her seat, her shoulder brushing up against Emily’s. “Are you sure we haven’t met before?”

“I’m sure.”

“Absolutely positive?”

“Absolutely positive,” Lupin repeats, laughing. “You must be mistaking me for someone else.”

Though Darcy continues to look suspiciously at him, she drops the matter. “What happened in the compartment? With Harry and the dementor?”

“The dementor just got a little too close to Harry,” he replies. “I’m sure he’s feeling fine, just a little shaken up. I don’t blame him.”

“Did you make the dementor go away?”

Lupin hesitates for a moment, mouth half open, then nods. He leans back in his seat and shrugs. “Yes, I did.”

“How did you do it?” Emily asks, suddenly interested in nothing but the conversation. This even sparks Carla’s interest, and the three girls lean in towards him, eager to hear his reply. “Did you cast a Patronus? What form did it take? Are you going to teach us?”

Lupin flashes a wide grin at all of them, rendered temporarily speechless. “I - I mean - haven’t you learned -?”

“We didn’t have a great teacher last year. Dumbledore must have told you about him,” Carla explains. “So we didn’t really learn much of anything. It was all theory really - obviously because Professor Lockhart probably wouldn’t have been able to show us the actual spells -”

“But he was very nice to look at,” Emily interrupts, giving Lupin a very serious look. “An absolute nightmare, but very handsome.”

Lupin looks at Darcy and they both smile and share a quick laugh before Carla turns in her seat to face him. He turns his attention back to her, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as she talks and talks and talks. “- Professor Lockhart himself said that we were the best class he’d ever had, so if you teach them Patronuses, then you’ll have to teach us - I’m sure we can handle it.”

“I’ll consider it,” Lupin finally says, taking advantage of the silence during which Carla takes a deep breath, readying herself to continue talking. “To be honest, I still have a lot of planning to do, but I appreciate any suggestions should they come to you.”

“So, what was it like?” Darcy asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “Your Patronus?”

“It was only one dementor,” Lupin answers. “I didn’t need to conjure a fully fledged Patronus to get rid of just one.”

“I’ve never seen a Patronus before,” Darcy says, lurching with the carriage as one of the wheels finds itself in a large hole.

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” he tells her, his voice quieter than before.

“You will teach us though, won’t you? Don’t you think it’s necessary now given the - special circumstances?”

Lupin purses his lips, considering this, but he doesn’t reply. He allows Emily and Carla to talk freely, as they’ve become more comfortable with him in their presence. Every so often, he pushes his hair out of his face, brushes off the sleeves of his jacket, and clears his throat.

Darcy and Lupin steal glances at each other for the rest of the carriage ride and Darcy begins to long for the warmth of the Great Hall, desperate to be inside and away from the dementors outdoors. They’ve cast a shadowy fog upon the grounds, causing it to be chillier than normal, but it isn’t a normal kind of chilly. It’s one that chills Darcy’s bones, one that slowly begins to freeze her insides, and relief sweeps over her as the carriage slows to a halt before Hogwarts.

Swept up in the crowd of students, Darcy and Emily bid Carla goodnight and head towards the Gryffindor table. The take a seat beside two other girls in their year, who are deep in conversation, ignoring Darcy and Emily completely.

As everyone settles into their seats, what seems like a hundred first years file over the threshold of the doors to the Great Hall, looking like deer in headlights. Their faces are ghostly white and a little sweaty, their eyes wide in amazement

“It’s going to take forever for the feast to begin,” she grumbles to Emily. “And I swear they’re smaller than ever this year.”

“Yeah?” Emily joins Darcy, looking over the first years. “Remember Mabel tried to give herself tits in our first year?”

Darcy snickers. “She could’ve just stuffed her bra like you did.”

“I was eleven years old,” Emily retorts. “Of course I stuffed my bra.”

The Sorting seems to drag on forever, with Professor Flitwick calling names instead of McGonagall. Darcy and Emily whisper to each other the entire time, clapping eagerly when someone is Sorted into Gryffindor. First year after first year after first year and Darcy’s stomach growls loudly as the line starts to thin. She takes a quick look down the table, looking everyone over a few times before catching sight of Ron and hissing his name a few times to get his attention. When he finally looks at her with eyes that seem glazed over, he hisses back, “ _ What _ ?”

" _Where's Harry?_ ” she whispers, glancing up again towards the Sorting, making sure that there are no teacher eyes focused intently upon her. None seem to be paying attention, so she looks back at Ron.

Ron shrugs, clearly irritable due to how long the Sorting is taking. He looks back towards the thinning crowd of first years and crosses his arms over his chest, groaning to George about something, who’s sitting next to him. Darcy sighs, watching the large doors to the Great Hall for a few moments, hoping to see Harry walk through them in that instant.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Emily says, leaning in closer to Darcy. She raises an eyebrow as three first years remain to be Sorted. “God - awful lot of Hufflepuffs this year, aren’t they?”

Darcy nods, but hasn’t been paying much attention to notice. Now that she looks around the Great Hall, she notices that the Hufflepuff table does seem more crowded than usual. Darcy inwardly thanks the Sorting Hat for allowing her elbow room at the table while still giving Gryffindor House a decent number of new students.

After the last first year is Sorted into Slytherin, Darcy’s eyes follow Professor Flitwick as he brings the Sorting Hat and the rickety old stool out of the Great Hall, and just as he passes over the threshold, two familiar faces walk in, hurrying towards the table. Harry must feel Darcy’s hard stare because he immediately finds her in the sea of Gryffindors, eyes wide in a  _ where have you been  _ kind of way. He shrugs and takes his seat next to Ron. Darcy goes to stand up, but Dumbledore stands to give his usual start of term speech and Emily grabs her arm and pulls Darcy back into her seat.

"Welcome!” Dumbledore booms and Darcy’s stomach growls even louder. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast…”

“I hope he does it quickly…” Emily moans, her stomach roaring along with Darcy’s. It seems that they aren’t alone, either. All around them, people clutch their stomachs, fidgeting in their seats, eager to have the delicious Hogwarts food appear in front of them, ripe for the picking.

“As you will be aware,” Dumbledore continues, putting an end to all the whispering again, “after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business.”

“A casual way of putting it,” Darcy mutters, shivering as she remembers the coldness of their compartment on the train after the dementor tried to enter. She tries to read Dumbledore’s face, but whatever his true feelings are on the subject, it’s unclear to her. He smiles encouragingly at all of his students, hoping not to scare them too terribly, Darcy assumes.

“They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds,” he continues, “and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises - or even Invisibility Cloaks…” His eyes sweep the Great Hall. “It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors.”

Darcy slowly tunes out, watching Dumbledore without listening, eyelids growing heavier, lightheaded from hunger. She notices Dumbledore nod towards Lupin and he stands, smiling warmly at everyone in the Great Hall. Emily claps along with all the others and Darcy joins in a little late, meeting Lupin’s eyes for a split second before he sits and the applause comes to a halt.

The second appointment shocks Darcy. She shakes her head slightly and tunes in to Dumbledore again, hoping to catch the end of his statement.

“...I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties.”

Hagrid blushes furiously and stands, just as Lupin did, giving an awkward wave to the crowd at large. Behind Darcy, who claps loudly for her friend, Harry, Ron, and Hermione wolf-whistle and give Hagrid a standing ovation. Darcy beams at Hagrid as he finds her at the Gryffindor table, and Dumbledore settles the students again, announcing the start of the magical feast.

First years sitting around them gasp audibly as all kinds of deliciously prepared meals spring into life, appearing on the long tables. Darcy breathes in deeply, readying herself, mentally preparing herself for the amount of food she’s about to shovel into her mouth. She takes a little bit of everything - sausages, lamb chops, tuna, slices of bread and butter, beans - whatever she can get her hands on, she eats, and for the first few minutes of the feast, Darcy and Emily eat in silence, hardly able to breathe through the amount of food they’re eating.

Come dessert, Darcy eats a little less, only able to eat two small slices of pie before feeling the need to purge. When forks and knives clatter on empty plates and sighs sound around the room, Dumbledore takes this as his moment to finish his speech. The desserts on Gryffindor table disappear as suddenly as they had appeared and Darcy soon wishes she was under the blankets of her bed, in the stage between asleep and awake, the cool air of her dormitory on her face.

As usual, Dumbledore wishes them all the best of luck, urges them to be careful, and sends them off to bed. Darcy and Emily continue to sit at the table for a few minutes, allowing the rest of their fellow Gryffindors to force their way to the Great Hall before attempting the excursion themselves. Darcy dreads the trip up to Gryffindor Tower, unsure if she’ll even be able to walk without feeling excessively full.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron zoom right past Darcy and she watches them race up to the teachers’ table, stopping in front of Hagrid with brilliant smiles on their faces. Darcy and Emily stretch and yawn obnoxiously, joining their three friends before leaving the Great Hall for the night.

“Congratulations, Hagrid!” Hermione shrieks, a wide grin plastered to her face.

“A real shame I don’t take Care of Magical Creatures anymore,” Darcy sighs contently, holding out a hand and allowing Hagrid to grasp it with both of his. Darcy puts her other hand on top of his, tiny compared to his own. “But I’ll make it a point to come visit more often, Hagrid.”

“Yer always welcome round my place,” Hagrid smiles, eyes filling with tears. “All of yeh.”

Professor McGonagall soon curtly ushers Darcy, Emily, Harry, Ron, and Hermione from the Great Hall, the teachers filing out past them, talking quietly amongst themselves. When the five of them are alone, with no one surrounding them, Darcy speeds up and walks backwards, facing Harry with a very stern look on her face.

“Where the hell were  _ you _ ?” she asks, her lips pursing. “You missed the Sorting.”

“I didn’t want to go,” Harry grunts, rolling his eyes at his sister. “They took me up to the hospital wing and then Hermione needed something with McGonagall - doesn’t seem like I missed much, though.”

“Sorting Hat did a nice song this year - different than usual -”

“Not like you two were actually listening,” Ron snorts. “Is talking all you guys do?”

Darcy and Emily laugh. Darcy falls back into the step with the rest of them and they chat and giggle and gossip until they reach the portrait of the Fat Lady. The door revealing the Gryffindor common room is already open, allowing passage to three nervous looking first years. It’s incredibly warm in the common room, a fire already roaring, and the knowledge that there’s a warm bed upstairs waiting for her to crawl into provides Darcy with a happiness that she hasn’t felt in months.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait!

“You were talking in your sleep again last night.”

Darcy looks at Emily, incredulous. “And you just  _let_   me? You didn’t think to wake me up?”

“You’ve been having nightmares now for seven years.” Emily waves an impatient hand. “I’ve taken to just ignoring you. I’ve come to accept that it’s going to happen.”

Darcy doesn’t answer and instead decides to load her plate with as many scrambled eggs as she can. If there’s one thing she misses more than doing magic all summer, it’s the breakfasts at Hogwarts. She eats her eggs in silence, shoveling food into her mouth and thinking hard. However embarrassing it is to have nightmares every night while other girls sleep around her, Emily’s convinced her that it’s all right to have bad dreams because she has a good reason to have bad dreams. It may have taken her a few years to actually get that through Darcy’s head, but it’s still awful nonetheless.

But with the knowledge that Sirius Black is out for blood - _Harry’s_ blood, according to Mr. Weasley - and after the encounter with the dementor on the train, Darcy’s last nightmare was one of the worst in a long time. Her mother, dead on the floor and Harry, screaming in the crib, red eyes flashing at her before a flash of green light. For years she’d worked on forgetting what happened that fateful night; she’d deny remembering anything when people asked (and people couldn’t help but ask what she remembered upon finding out she’s a Potter), deny remembering the flash of green light that should have ended Harry’s life. And after so many years of convincing others that she couldn’t remember a single thing, her brain became convinced, too.

The nightmare is forgotten by both Darcy and Emily when Professor McGonagall gives them their schedules and they comb through them. “Double Defense Against the Dark Arts first,” Darcy reads. “Not a bad way to start our first day back.”

It’s a huge shock walking into Lupin’s classroom. Everything feels so empty. After getting used to seeing pictures of Lockhart smiling down at them from every open space on the walls, Darcy feels quite relieved that there aren’t any pictures of Lupin on the walls, his eyes following them like Lockhart’s did. The two take their spot at a table in the back, looking around for Lupin before talking quietly amongst themselves.

“What are we doing for your birthday this year?” Emily asks, scooting closer to Darcy. “I bet Gemma could get us some firewhisky. And she’d probably let us into the prefect’s bathroom.”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure she’s dating Robert, and isn’t he the one that sold us out to McGonagall?”

“Then we’ll just tell Gemma it’s a secret and not to tell him.”

“Robert has his nose in everyone’s business,” Darcy replies quietly. “There’s no way he’s not going to find out. And I’m not putting my life in the hands of a Slytherin.”

Emily cocks an eyebrow and smirks at her. “That’s Harry talking, not you,” she says. “C’mon - the Slytherins have always been our go-to for firewhisky.”

“Yeah, all right,” Darcy agrees. “But if I think Robert seems suspicious at all, I’m calling the whole thing off.”

“Fine,” Emily says curtly and she suddenly raises her eyebrows, looking very serious. “I want to talk to you about this dream, though -”

“ _Ladies_!”

Darcy and Emily jump and their eyes snap to the front of the classroom, where they hadn’t even noticed Professor Lupin talking to the class. Having become accustomed to a professor that never really taught, they’re both surprised that Lupin’s had the audacity to call them out in front of the class. He isn’t angry, but is smiling at them politely, and everyone in the classroom turns to look at them. “Sorry, Professor,” Emily smiles her most charming smile. “We’re listening.”

“Well, since you ladies were listening so well, why don’t you come up here and demonstrate how to produce a Patronus charm?”

The two girls look at each other for a moment. “Oh my god - how long was he standing up there talking?” Darcy hisses, but they get up all the same, clearing their throats.

“Excellent,” Lupin claps his hands together and the class sniggers as the reach the front. “I’ll need one of you - Emily, why don’t you stand here at this end - Darcy, stand over here -” Lupin shuffles the two of them around and they’re soon standing face to face, as if preparing to duel. “Which one of you would like to go first?”

Neither of them speak, egging each other on silently behind Lupin’s back. After a few moments, Lupin laughs.

“Thank you for volunteering to go first, Miss Duncan! After all, wasn’t it you that suggested I teach you this?”

Emily sneers at Darcy, but as soon as Lupin looks at her again, Emily smiles a sweet smile. She readies her wand and clears her throat, looking to Lupin expectantly, suddenly realizing she isn’t sure how to conjure a Patronus. Darcy, arms hanging at her sides, looks out at the class and then at Emily again, chuckling.

“You’ll need to think of the happiest memory you have,” Lupin instructs Emily, circling her and Darcy, hands folded behind his back. “Think hard back to the happiest you’ve ever been and channel that happiness through to your wand and use it to power your Patronus. When you’re ready, you’ll use the incantation _Expecto Patronum._ ”

Emily shuts her eyes, deep in thought. Darcy, although thankful that she’s able to have more time to think of a happy memory, feels her heart sink. What happy memory of her’s could ever help produce a Patronus? She thinks quickly of the first time she ever came to Hogwarts, but even then, she missed Harry so terribly and was so disgusted she left him alone with the Dursleys that there was an ache in her stomach for months - for years. She thinks back to before Hogwarts, trying to remember a time when she was four years old - trying to remember a time before Voldemort, to a time when she had a family, a real family. Trying to remember a time before everything…

She continues to search for a happy memory even as Emily raises her wand and hesitates only for a split second, before shouting, _"_ _E_ _xpecto Patronum!_ ” Darcy, who expects to see nothing at all, is impressed to see something that resembles vapor coming from the tip of her wand. Emily immediately huffs and grips her wand tighter, opening her mouth to speak to try again, but Lupin stops her.

“Why don’t we let Darcy try?” Lupin asks, turning to Darcy instead.

Darcy opens her mouth to protest, but finds it too dry to even speak. Her heart is hammering in her chest. As prideful as she is, she thinks it too humiliating to admit she can’t think of a happy enough memory to help with casting a Patronus. Lupin seems to understand her hesitancy and claps a hand on her shoulder before quickly tearing it away. The place where his hand had touched burns hot for a few seconds before she forces herself to think of something happy again. It’s one of the hardest tasks she’s ever been asked to do.

“Relax, Darcy,” he mumbles to her. “You aren’t getting graded on this. It’s just something I thought I’d try for our first class.”

“Okay,” Darcy groans, defeated. Emily watches carefully as Darcy raises her wand now, the palm of her hand sweaty. She takes a final moment to gather her thoughts and she shuts her eyes tight. She remembers something, something so long ago it may not have happened at all, but it’s real enough for this moment, real enough to prove to the class that she’s able to produce _something_ . The image of a happy family, eating dinner around a table, laughing at a small baby with thin, dark hair and bright green eyes - the feeling of belonging somewhere, the feeling of being accepted and loved - “ _Expecto Patronum_ !” And something real _does_ erupt from her wand. Not a fully fledged Patronus, but more vapor that Emily had produced and she claps for her friend when Darcy lowers her wand, suddenly exhausted.

“Well done!” Lupin claps along with Emily. “Take five points each for Gryffindor! And you ladies can return to your - _riveting_ \- conversation.”

Darcy and Emily pay a little more attention during Lupin’s class after the horrifying demonstration. His eyes flick across them more often than the other students, and each time he catches them whispering to each other, all three of them smile awkwardly before he moves on.

He teaches enthusiastically, showing them complicated wand motions, eyes alight with excitement, captivating nearly every student in the class. Lupin talks with his hands, showing them pictures and diagrams out of their books, writing incantations on the blackboard in rushed and sloppy handwriting, and laughing along with the class every time a joke is made. Seeing Lupin in the thick of it, in the middle of an eager, ready-to-learn class, Darcy feels as if she’s seeing him for the first time.

His patched, frayed, and shabby robes hang off his thin frame, giving Darcy the impression that he’s skipped a few meals before coming to Hogwarts. But however unkempt his robes appear, he seems well groomed - his hair is combed and clean and set in place, the five o’clock shadow he’d had on the train is cleaned up, completely shaved. Lacking any facial hair, Darcy can now see the faint, pink lines on his face, scars that appear to have been there for years.

And while he is excited and clearly knowledgeable (or more so than Lockhart was, anyway), Darcy can’t help but think he just looks _sad_. There are permanent bags under his eyes, premature lines on his face, and an all around somber, hardened feel to him.

When the bell finally rings to signal the end of class, Lupin lets them go without homework and, in that moment, becomes everyone in the class’s favorite teacher. They all leave happily, strolling through the threshold talking loudly and laughing. Darcy and Emily are the last students to leave his classroom and move towards the entrance hall to make it to Herbology on time.

“What did you think?” Emily asks, sounding genuinely curious.

Darcy sighs, looking at Emily. “It was good,” she laughs, but suddenly narrows her eyes, shortening her strides until finally coming to a halt in the middle of the corridor. “It was - _too_ good.”

“You sound surprised,” Emily sniggers, realizing Darcy isn’t next to her a few seconds after she’s already stopped. She turns towards Darcy.

“I guess I’m just so used to having Lockhart around.” Darcy thinks hard, but can’t come up with a single complaint about Lupin’s first class. “There has to be a catch, right? I mean - Defense Against the Dark Arts classes aren’t  _good_ without there being a catch.”

“There might not be a catch this time,” Emily says hopefully. “Maybe Dumbledore’s just finally found a decent teacher.”

Shrugging, Darcy catches up to Emily and the two continue down the corridor. “In my seven years at Hogwarts, there has only been one thing I’ve ever truly learned - one thing that’s ingrained in my brain.”

Emily looks sideways at Darcy, smirking.

“There’s  _always_ a catch.”

* * *

Word of Professor Lupin’s first Defense Against the Dark Arts class spreads quickly and soon, students of each year are raving about their first classes, too. But as the days wear on, the only thing on Darcy’s mind is her eighteenth birthday.

She’s eager to relax, to spread out in the large bathtub and drink with her friends, celebrating her final year at Hogwarts. With everything going on at her school, she needs an excuse to forget about it all for at least a few hours. However, knowing that this will be her last birthday ever at Hogwarts, she feels a kind of sadness that she can’t explain. The only birthday celebrations she’s ever had were at Hogwarts. Maybe Petunia is often times kinder to Darcy than to Harry, but that doesn’t mean Darcy’s ever had elaborate parties and day trips and presents like Dudley’s birthdays. Birthdays at the Dursleys were always a depressing matter - an unwelcome reminder of how much time had passed without a real family to love her, how much time she had spent confined in a house full of cruel people with no regard as to how Darcy and Harry felt.

Emily continues to plot a secret birthday party in the prefects bathroom and Carla even secures some firewhisky from a seventh year Hufflepuff, which Darcy is grateful for. The three of them enjoy the weekend and what could be the last of the autumn weather. They flip through schoolbooks in sweaters and knit hats, attempting to do homework even with the breeze hoping to steal away their parchment. The giant squid seems subdued, as well, hiding beneath the surface of the lake, keeping the splashing to a minimum.

“You know, for our last year here, they are _not_ holding back with homework,” Emily groans, placing her inkwell onto one corner of her parchment and her Transfiguration book onto the opposite corner. “Pressure’s on.”

“I regret taking Transfiguration,” Darcy mutters, rolling up her finished Potions essay and stuffing it back into her bag, along with her ink and quill. “I still haven’t started that homework.”

Emily looks at Darcy with furrowed brows. “It’s due tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but we have a free period beforehand.”

“It’s not a free period,” Emily cackles. “It’s lunch.”

“Then I’ll do it at lunch.”

“Look, I’m not going to complain when I get the better grade on my essay because I actually took my time, but if you are going to start putting off essays until lunch, I wouldn’t recommend you make that one McGonagall’s.”

“Then I’ll rotate them. Happy?”

Emily looks back down at her essay, seeming quite relieved. “I was planning on doing my Defense one during lunch, too. Zoned out during the last thirty minutes and missed everything Lupin said. I haven’t even started it.” She rolls up the parchment in front of her and taps Carla’s head with it, catching her attention. “Awfully quiet over there.”

Carla has three books open in front of her, holding down the pages with chocolate frog boxes, an empty butterbeer bottle, and a shoe. While scribbling frantically on parchment, she shakes her head. She finishes out a sentence, looks it over twice, and then leans back on her hands and smiles at her friends. “I’m going to drop out.”

“You say that every year,” Emily replies.

Darcy pulls out her most recent copy of the  _Daily Prophet_ and lies down in the grass, scanning the front page for anything relating to Sirius Black. “I told you not to take so many classes,” she teases. 

“I took the same amount that you two did,” Carla says, exasperated. “And I feel like it’s a never ending cycle of homework. How did you manage it?”

“A lot of faith in myself as a witch and a lot of using every lunch period to finish essays,” Darcy shrugs. “If you perform well, teachers will be a bit more lenient grading your homework.”

“I beg to differ,” Emily snorts. “You may be good at Potions, but I _read_ your essays. Snape went easy on you, but definitely not me. So when you’re done fucking him or whatever you’re doing, send him my way. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

“First of all, I know exactly what essay of mine you’re thinking about and that essay was brilliant for a last minute scramble and considering it was two inches too short. That was _not_ my fault that you got a twenty percent -”

Emily raises her eyebrows, scoffing. “That essay was better than yours - Snape was just in a bad mood that day and -”

“You’ve been bitter about this for three years,” Darcy grins.

“You’re not making me feel any better,” Carla whines, closing all her books and packing her bag up again.

“You watched us stress out our entire sixth year,” Emily retorts, also deciding to call it quits and cleaning up her area. “You’ll be fine, and you’ll emerge from your exams a changed woman.”

When all three of them have packed up their things, the bitter wind begins to pick up and they decide to call it a day. They wander inside the Great Hall for dinner, stuffing themselves with roast chicken and potatoes, sneaking some extra desserts into their pockets to bring back up to the common room.

The Gryffindor Common room is always loud the first few weeks of school while friends reconnect and share stories they were unable to over the summer, and it’s often hard to find good seats. But fortunately, Harry, Ron, and Hermione have secured the good chairs and loveseat by the fire. Darcy and Emily join them, holding their hands out to the dancing flames in the fireplace. There’s a buzz of conversation around them, but within an hour and a half, nearly everyone has found their way upstairs to their dormitories.  

It’s quiet between them all for a little while. Harry and Ron play chess while Hermione watches, stroking her cat, Crookshanks, who’s settled himself onto her lap. Finally, when the common room is close to empty and Harry yawns after losing the last chess match, Darcy grabs his sleeve and stops him, startling everyone around her.

“I’ll need the cloak tomorrow night,” she whispers.

“What?” Harry snaps. “Why?”

“You can consider it your birthday gift to me,” Darcy smiles up at Harry pleasantly.

Harry doesn’t answer. He looks down at her suspiciously, tearing his sleeve away from her grasp. “Fine, but don’t get caught.”

Darcy stands up and stretches, yawning obnoxiously. “Don’t you have homework you should be doing or something?” she asks him, pulling strange faces as she attempts to touch her toes.

“Yeah,” Harry replies quietly, avoiding a piercing look from Hermione. “But I’ll do it during lunch tomorrow.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry that I haven't updated in a while. Went on vacation, bought the new Mass Effect game... you know how it is. I just finished it, by the way, which is why I'm finally putting out a new chapter!

Invisibility cloak in tow, Darcy and Emily sneak up to their empty dormitory at eleven o’clock the following evening. Once up there, they slip their shoes on and Darcy throws the cloak over them. It just barely glides above the ground, but covers them completely. Huddled very close together underneath it, they shuffle awkwardly down the staircase and into the still full common room. It’s mostly sixth and seventh years finishing games of Exploding Snap and clearing up their finished homework, but none of them realize Darcy and Emily sneaking right by them. They don’t even notice the portrait hole open and close quickly behind them.

They bypass the prefect’s fifth floor bathroom, moving hurriedly down the stairs. “I expected more teachers,” Darcy pants as they reach the fourth floor. “With Sirius Black on the loose…”

“Don’t jinx it.”

They stop abruptly on the third floor when Darcy’s hair gets tangled in Emily’s earring. Emily gasps as her earring tugs her ear and she hurriedly unwraps Darcy’s red hair from around her ear. Darcy hears a tearing noise and looks sideways at Emily, but before she can ask any questions, Emily whispers - “It’ll grow back.”

“I told you not to wear those earrings,” Darcy hisses as they press on. She reaches behind her head, feeling the spot where Emily has ripped her hair. “God forbid we actually run into a teacher - imagine getting those earrings stuck in Snape’s hair.”

“I wouldn’t get near enough to let it happen in the first place,” Emily snaps.

Darcy and Emily round a corner in a first floor corridor and freeze when they hear footsteps echoing around them. Momentarily forgetting they’re invisible, Emily grabs Darcy’s arm and pulls her behind a suit of armor standing sentinel against the wall. Darcy holds her breath, waiting for someone to show themselves. Holding onto Emily’s hand, Darcy pulls her away from the wall to watch whoever is walking towards them.

Surprisingly, it’s Snape who turns down the corridor, holding something in his hands. He’s walking slowly, shoulders slumped, but his long strides carry him across the corridor floor rather quickly.

“Speak of the devil…” Darcy breathes in Emily’s ear.

Snape continues to move past them and when he walks directly in front of them, Darcy and Emily lean forward slightly to see what he’s carrying, but it’s much too dark to see what’s in the goblet. Whatever is in it, however, is smoking. In Darcy’s ear, Emily tries desperately to smell whatever potion he’s carrying, but neither of them can detect any scent, sweet or foul. Thankfully, Snape doesn’t notice them, invisible, standing only a few short feet away and he make it to the end of the corridor before taking a right.

“That was weird, right?” Emily asks when they’re sure Snape is far enough away from them.

“Whatever,” Darcy mutters, pulling Emily along. “Important thing is that he didn’t see us…”

They run the rest of the way to the kitchens, the cloak flapping around their ankles and revealing their shoes. Emily allows Darcy the honor of tickling the pear outside the entrance to the kitchen and in a few seconds, the door shuts behind them and they throw off the Invisibility cloak. The house-elves, ambling around the kitchen, startle easily, but when they see who it is, instantly become relaxed again.

The house elves are ecstatic to have kind visitors and load them up with sweets and leftover chicken, large bowls of stew, butterbeer, and bread. Darcy and Emily thank them profusely, but with their arms full of food, they have to sneak out under the cloak as the house elves looks for more food to give them.

Darcy and Emily walk slower than before up the stairs and make sure that Snape is nowhere to be found on the first floor before speeding up the stairs, dropping a few rolls behind them. “At least the mice will have something to eat tonight…” Emily mumbles, keeping up with Darcy’s long strides.

At last, outside the prefects bathroom, out of breath and with stitches in their sides, they take off the cloak. Darcy hides it just outside the bathroom, behind an empty suit of armor. Emily gives the password and the door opens just enough for them to sneak in and shut it quickly behind them. At once, their faces light up.

There are already several people inside, talking loudly and wide grins plastered to each of their faces. “ _Happy birthday_!” they all shout, before swarming Darcy and Emily, picking food out of their arms. The elongated baths are full of colored water and several opened bottles of whiskey, elderflower wine, and champagne litter the floor.

“Finally,” Carla’s voice sounds from the opposite side of the bathroom. She’s seated in the bath with some friends, long, dark, curly hair flowing around her, giving her the appearance of a glowing, bronzed mermaid. In her hand is a tall glass, almost overflowing with bubbly champagne, and with her other hand, Carla beckons them towards her. “Did you get lost or what?”

“We supplied all the food you’ll need after you finish that glass of champagne,” Darcy teases, slipping her clothes off and getting into the water. The Hufflepuff across from her pours her a small bit of whiskey before handing Emily a cup of wine.

“Anyway,” Carla says quickly, her cheeks turning pink. “These are my friends, Donna and Tina - both in my year. Donna, Tina - this is Darcy and Emily.”

“This may be the first time we’ve been formally introduced, but I think just about everybody knows who you are, Darcy,” Tina shrugs, pouring more wine for a few more friends. She smiles sweetly at Darcy and Emily. “Pleasure to meet you two, and happy birthday, Darcy.”

“Thanks.”

Donna, a Ravenclaw girl Darcy’s never met before now, raises her glass high above her head in greeting and a little wine sloshes over the rim. “Shame that little brother of yours couldn’t make it,” Donna smirks. “I was looking forward to meeting him. Though, I’m sure he’s tired of making the rounds?”

Darcy opens her mouth to speak, but Emily interrupts, allowing Tina to pour her more wine while she speaks. “Darcy likes to keep that boy locked up in the common room if she can help it,” she glances sideways at Darcy, who’s smiling. “I’d be shocked if Darcy ever allowed Harry to come to one of our functions.”

“You make it sound so classy,” Darcy shoots back. “As if we haven’t just snuck into a bathroom to drink.”

“Calling it a ‘function’ makes me feel better about all the underage drinking,” Carla snorts. “I don’t think a teacher would call it the same thing.”

“Regardless,” Tina says. “Having the Boy-Who-Lived attend one of our _functions_ would make for excellent conversation.”

“He wouldn’t enjoy it as much as we would,” Carla replies. “He’s awfully humble, isn’t he, Darcy? That or just insanely overwhelmed.”

" _One_  of the Potters’ has to be humble,” Emily nudges Darcy in the arm. “But I’m sure being overwhelmed does have something to do with it. Anyway, let’s go make the rounds. Looks like there are plenty of people with gifts and I’m hoping they’re more alcohol.”

Darcy receives hugs from some fellow Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, as well as Gemma the Slytherin, who waves her wand to create a tiara just for Darcy. With a rousing chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’, Gemma raises her glass of firewhiskey and shushes everyone.

“I’d like to propose a toast!” she shouts excitedly. “To Darcy - an extraordinary friend and witch. Happy birthday!”

Blushing furiously, Darcy thanks everyone.

A few hours and drinks later, people start filtering out of the bathroom at intervals, not wanting to draw suspicion from any teachers roaming the halls. Tina and Donna leave quite early, leaving their nearly empty bottles behind for anyone to finish off. Darcy and Emily are some of the tipsiest in the bathroom, Carla a close second. When just a few remain behind, the three of them feel free to discuss simple matters without worrying about eavesdroppers.

“I’m only saying that it’s weird Snape would just be carrying goblets full of potion around so late at night,” Darcy slurs, talking with her hands and spilling mead into the bath water. “Unless he’s having a secret affair -”

Emily stares at Darcy. “You’re really reaching for an excuse now,” she retorts. “That’s the last reason I’d think of for him to be wandering around the castle this late.”

“Well, _we_ were wandering around the castle -”

“Yeah, but I highly doubt Snape was sneaking off to party with his friends.”

Carla nods slowly, eyes bloodshot and droopy. “But you don’t even know what it was,” she answers, shaking her hair out of her face. Water splashes Emily and she sputters. “It could have just been a drink - maybe he ran out of glasses.”

“It was  _smoking_ ,” Emily corrects her. “And I wasn’t about to get any closer to it to find out. He probably would’ve smelled Darcy’s perfume.”

“I’m not wearing perfume, you are,” Darcy snaps, sounding overly offended. “And I forgot to tell you how much I hate it.”

“No, you haven’t forgotten,” Emily scoffs. “You’ve told me plenty of times, don’t worry.”

“How many more times do I have to tell you until you get rid of it?” Darcy groans.

“I’m not getting rid of it!”

“When you wake up tomorrow and can’t find it, then, don’t blame me.”

“How does it feel, Darcy?” Carla asks her gently. “To know this is the last birthday you’ll celebrate here?”

Darcy’s smile fades slowly as she thinks hard about it. The alcohol prevents her from thinking too hard, but she tries. “It’s sad, I guess,” she answers with a shrug of her shoulders. Darcy fingers the ends of her red hair that contrast heavily against her milky skin. “I wish I could do it all over again, you know? I’d do anything to be a first year, waiting to be Sorted again.”

The three of them are quiet, sipping their drinks and appreciating each other’s company, reflecting on their past years at Hogwarts. “Do you remember the day we met?” Carla laughs weakly, reminiscing. “I was one of the smallest first years, tripping over robes too big for me, holding too many books at a time.”

“You ran right into me,” Darcy chuckles. “Nearly knocked me over.”

Carla inhales deeply. “You two have been such wonderful friends to me,” she whispers. “I’ll miss you both next year.”

Carla looks down at her wrist for a few seconds, squinting her eyes trying to read the time. At once, she stands, splashing more water into Darcy’s glass and muttering under her breath about curfew. Darcy and Emily laugh, as it’s already hours past curfew, but Carla still jumps out of the bath and wraps her robes around her, stumbling slightly on the slippery ground. “This is a safety hazard,” she grumbles to herself.

“I’ll be sure to let Filch know before our next party,” Darcy calls after her as Carla makes her way to the door. “See you tomorrow!” Carla looks over her shoulder, but doesn’t seem to register what Darcy is saying as she vanishes out of sight back into the corridor.

At long last, Darcy and Emily are the only ones left in the bathroom, and while they’ve given up drinking more, they still break out into fits of giggles and talk in what sounds like broken English due to inebriation. When the last drops of wine have been drained from their goblets, Darcy and Emily stand up and dry themselves off, slipping their clothes back on. People have trodden on them with wet feet and their sweaters are soaking wet still, but neither of them seem to notice.

They take a look around the bathroom, taking in the sight. It’s a mess - cigarette butts float on the surface of the still bath water, empty bottles and broken cups lay all over the ground. Too drunk to even think about cleaning it all up, Darcy and Emily make sure their clothes are on right, their wands are in their pockets, and they leave the bathroom, making sure to shut the door behind them.

Darcy rushes for her Invisibility Cloak behind the suit of armor, fumbling for it. She throws it over herself and Emily and once it falls over them both, the smell of stale smoke and whiskey consumes them. Emily nearly gags and they begin to walk through the corridors, back towards Gryffindor Tower. They laugh at each other quietly, walking arm-in-arm with each other, barely able to see in the dark hallways, tripping over each other’s feet, not caring that the Invisibility Cloak is showing off Darcy’s legs.

It isn’t until they hear someone call, “Who’s there?” that they begin to panic.

“We’re caught - _shit_! - we were so close!” Emily hisses in Darcy’s ear.

“Who do you think it is?” Darcy asks quietly, moving closer to the end of the corridor, exactly where the voice is coming from. Footsteps sound around the corner and she sighs heavily. “I’m too drunk to run away right now - let’s just stay still with the cloak -”

“No, take it off - they already know we’re here!” Emily fights back. “If they catch us with the cloak, you’ll lose the cloak!”

Darcy hesitates, but finally pulls the cloak from them both, bunching it up into a large ball and throwing it to her side. It hits the wall silently and slides to the ground, hiding itself among the shadows just as someone rounds the corner and a lit wand tip appears right in Darcy’s face.

She winces, shielding the light from her eyes, and looks up to find Professor Lupin staring down at her and Emily, eyebrows knitted in confusion. He moves his wand away from Darcy and cocks an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation as to why they’re walking around Hogwarts, soaking wet, in the dead of night.

Finally, Emily seems unable to contain herself. “It’s Darcy’s birthday,” she blurts out.

“I don’t think that quite justifies your situation.” Lupin smiles sympathetically at the two of them, laughing at them rocking back and forth, shifting their weight, unable to stand still. “Madam Pomfrey told me there was some kind of commotion going on. I thought I’d come and check it out.”

Darcy and Emily look at him. The smiles have vanished from their faces, but Lupin doesn’t seem to be at all angry. On the contrary, he looks slightly amused. His eyes look tired and heavy, his face paler than usual, the pink scars on his face more pronounced in the wandlight. Hair tousled, Lupin runs a hand through it exasperatedly, messing it up even more.

“Do you have… _anything_ to say for yourselves?” Lupin asks, and when his question isn’t answered, he leans in towards the girls and sniffs. “You smell terrible.”

“It’s her perfume!” Darcy announces suddenly, leaving Emily blushing and looking mortified. “I told her it stinks!”

“No, it’s - it’s not -” Lupin sighs, defeated, and smiles more warmly. “Go back to your dormitories and go directly to sleep. I expect that if I give you ladies a detention now, you won’t remember it tomorrow morning.”

“A detention?” Emily scoffs. “For what?”

"Be glad it's not a Howler..." Darcy whispers in Emily's ear.

Lupin tilts his head and laughs. "A Howler?"

"Professor McGonagall caught us last time and sent letters to our families and they sent us Howlers," Darcy explains and Emily giggles remembering it. "Mr. Weasley got mine instead of Mrs. Weasley though, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been, I guess."

"Stop!" Emily elbows Darcy hard in the ribs. "You'll give him ideas!"

"Don't worry - no letters will be going to your families," Lupin says quickly. "We'll save that idea for, say - the third time I catch you drinking?"

Darcy and Emily look at each other and shrug. "Fair enough," Emily replies.

“Just - enjoy your night, ladies, and we’ll discuss this further tomorrow.”

Darcy and Emily stay where they are, eyeing the Invisibility Cloak. Darcy isn’t about to just leave it lying in the hallway for anyone to take, but she doesn’t want Lupin confiscating it, either. Lupin crosses his arms - he isn’t above to move, either. Grumbling, Darcy and Emily rush past him, planning on coming back for it as soon as Lupin leaves the area, but before they hurtle around the corner of the corridor, Lupin stops them.

“Oh, and Darcy?”

Darcy looks over her shoulder at him.

“Happy birthday.”

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

“Wake up.”

Darcy groans and rubs her eyes, the bright sunlight streaming through her window and directly onto her face. Emily is already dressed, gathering her books into her bag, and making her bed. Darcy watches her for a moment and then looks around, noticing they’re the last two in their dormitory. Somehow, Emily has always been immune to hangovers.

Closing her eyes again and pulling the blankets up over her head, Darcy feels Emily throwing clothes at her, and her shoes hit her in the chin. Darcy uncovers herself and sits up, her head still spinning and cold sweat soaking her face. “What time is it?” she asks, throat and mouth dry.

“Eight,” Emily replies. “Breakfast has already started. Put your robes on already, would you?”

“You sure you don’t just want to skip the first few classes today? If not all of them?”

“Why? Hungover?”

“Just a little bit.” Darcy holds her face in her hands and pushes her hair out of her face.

“I’ve been up for an hour already,” Emily grins, reaching down into her trunk. She pulls something out of it and holds it up to show Darcy - it’s silvery and shimmering in the sunlight. “I went back and grabbed this when I woke up. Now, wake up - I’m hungry and I want something greasy.”

The thought makes Darcy’s stomach churn, but she slinks out of bed all the same.

At breakfast, owls are already fluttering over the heads of students and dropping mail into breakfast platters, scattering food all over tables. While walking towards the Gryffindor table, Darcy takes a quick look around and notices that everyone she had seen at her party last night either looks like her - ill, tired, and slightly green in the face - or like Emily - bright, alert, and ready for classes to start. Darcy and Emily sit at the table, nearer to the end towards the teachers’ table.

Max, who has been sitting perched on an open window, seems to have been waiting for Darcy to arrive. He gracefully flutters down to her and drops today’s copy of the  _ Daily Prophet  _ in her lap before allowing himself to land on her shoulder. He nuzzles Darcy’s head affectionately and she strokes his feathers with one hand, unrolling the paper with her other. Max eyes Emily as she cuts up a piece of sausage and she looks over, staring him down, finally holding up a bit of sausage for him to eat.

“Give him some water, would you?” Darcy asks Emily absentmindedly.

“He’s not my owl.” But Emily allows Max to drink some water from an extra goblet as Darcy reads.

But she hasn’t opened the paper. Darcy’s eyes are fixed on the moving picture of Sirius Black on the front page, right above an article about him. She hasn’t read it, but the picture of Sirius Black stares up at her, calmer than usual, a grim smile on his face, eyes black and deadened, hair lank and greasy.

“Darcy!” Emily shouts in her ear and makes Darcy jump near out of her seat. Max, frightened after this sudden movement, hoots loudly and flies off, back out of the window and towards the Owlery.

“What?” Darcy replies, eyebrows furrowed, looking at her friend. Her eyes are wide and her chest is heaving, and the picture of Sirius Black is the only thing she’s able to see in her mind’s eye.

Emily gives Darcy a quick, nervous once over and takes the paper from Darcy’s hands, completely ignoring the picture and reading the article underneath. She reads it quickly, lips tight. “He’s been sighted close by,” she mutters. “By a Muggle south of here.” Emily gives Darcy her paper back. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, pushing her plate of food away and standing up. “I’m fine. I forgot something back in the dormitory - I’ll meet you in class.”

* * *

After throwing up a few times in a deserted bathroom and splashing ice cold water over her face, Darcy starts to feel a little better. She looks at herself in the dirty, cracked mirror. Bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, face paler than normal, eyes a bright green. It isn’t often that she takes long looks at her reflection - that’s more Emily’s thing - but each time she does, it seems like she’s aged years since the last time.

Darcy’s lost near all of her baby fat, her cheeks not full like Carla’s. Her high cheekbones jut out, giving her face a triangular shape with her pointed chin and long, thin nose. She closes her eyes, gripping the sides of the sink tight. When the bell rings signaling first classes, Darcy scoops up her bag and heads out the door.

She won’t make it to the dungeons in time for class and she’s sure Snape will have something to say about it, but she doesn’t care. If she’s lucky, he won’t realize she’s hungover. Darcy rounds the corner quickly and runs into someone, falling backwards on the floor and spilling books all over the ground. Mumbling to herself, she starts to pick them up, filling her bag again.

“Watch where the hell you’re going next -” Darcy looks up and her face reddens.

“Why don’t you slow down?” Lupin replies, corners of his lips turning upwards. He picks up the last of Darcy’s books and hands it to her, rubbing his chest with his other hand. “You probably broke a few of my ribs.”

“It’s a good thing Madam Pomfrey is a sort of expert in repairing broken bones,” Darcy says. “Last year, Harry lost all the bones in his arm and she regrew them all.”

“How -?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well you’ll have plenty of time to tell me,” Lupin chuckles, holding his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels. “Tonight - bring your dinner up to my office for your detention. I haven’t been feeling all that well lately and could use some help grading papers. I’m currently drowning in paperwork.”

“Tonight?” Darcy asks helplessly. She had planned on using that time after dinner to go immediately to sleep and catch up on rest. “And Emily?”

“I’m no fool, Darcy,” he laughs. “I know better than to put you and Emily together for detention. She’s serving her’s tomorrow night.”

The bell for class rings again and Darcy straightens up and looks up at Lupin with wide eyes. “Snape will kill me if I’m late - could you walk me to class?”

“I’d love to help you, Darcy, but I’m afraid that if I show up with you to excuse you, Snape will kill us both.”

Darcy shows up exactly six minutes late to Potions class, without Lupin as her escort, and she slips in through the door while Snape’s back is turned to find her seat with Emily and Gemma towards the back of class. Snape continues to write on the blackboard, even as Darcy’s chair scrapes against the dungeon floor, and most heads turn towards her and start whispering.

“He knows you weren’t here on time,” Emily shrugs. “Don’t think he didn’t notice me walking in all by my lonesome.”

“I was busy getting served my detention,” Darcy snaps quietly.

“Yeah, he came looking for us both at breakfast. I asked if we could serve our detention together and Lupin shot that down pretty quick,” Emily whispers. “But at least I tried.”

Snape turns around and looks over the class, eyes falling first on Darcy. She quickly opens her book to a random page and pulls out her completed essay, handwriting sloppy towards the end and nearly illegible. Snape flicks his wand and her essay flies to the front of the class and lands on top of all the others, stacked neatly on his desk.

“Now that Miss Potter has graced us with her presence,” Snape begins, “maybe we can begin.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Darcy mutters.

Fifteen minutes later, Darcy and Emily are setting up their cauldrons and taking ingredients from their bags to brew love potions. Gemma chatters excitedly about the prospect, but Darcy isn’t as enthusiastic. “You do realize that he’s going to make people try these, right?” Darcy snaps at Gemma. Emily looks up from her cauldron at her. “And you do realize that by being late, Snape will volunteer me?”

“You know he’ll give you an antidote,” Gemma replies, rolling her eyes and smiling at Emily.

“You Slytherins have such trust in Snape, it sometimes baffles me,” Emily chuckles, stirring the contents in her cauldron. “Being a Gryffindor myself - I don’t have much confidence in him, to be honest.”

“Careful,” Gemma warns her with a grin. “Just for that comment, he might not give you the antidote.”

Just short of an hour later, nearly everyone’s love potions are complete. The room smells of perfume for the most part, pungent and potent enough to make Darcy’s eyes water. Gemma’s bubbling, thick, pink concoction jumps out of her cauldron, splashing onto Emily’s hands. She pulls them away quickly and gives her potion a few quick stirs as Snape wanders through the aisles, sniffing and stirring and examining each and every potion, taking a small sample of each person’s to grade later.

When at last Snape reaches Darcy’s table, he looks into Gemma’s cauldron first and turns up his nose, handing her a phial to fill with her potion. She packs up as Snape moves to Emily’s. She gives him a wide smile, which is not returned, but he doesn’t look into her cauldron with the same look of disgust as he did with Gemma’s. Emily shrugs, collects her sample, and throws her ingredients back into her back.

Finally, Snape reaches Darcy’s. He looks into her cauldron for a long time. “Miss Duncan?” he asks, looking up from the potion into Emily’s face. Emily looks at him with raised eyebrows. From within his robes, he withdraws an extra phial, holding it out for Emily to take. “Why don’t you have Darcy show the class how powerful a love potion can really be?”

Emily looks at Darcy apologetically and takes the phial from Snape’s hand. She slowly lowers her hand into Darcy’s cauldron and fills the phial. Emily holds it out in front of Darcy. “Sorry,” she whispers.

Grudgingly, Darcy takes the potion from Emily and drinks it all quickly. As she does so, the class breaks out into laughs and high pitched giggles. Darcy lowers the phial and licks her lips, the taste not half as bad she had imagined. She looks up at Snape, who’s mouth is twisted into a forced grin, and then back at Emily, who’s more beautiful than ever.

Emily seems to radiate beauty - her skin glows like a goddesses, her hair falls perfectly, she seems to blink in slow motion for the sole purpose of fluttering her lashes. But Emily looks at Darcy with a horrified expression, as if she’s only seeing Darcy for the first time. Darcy starts to move closer to Emily, who watches, tense and uncomfortable, but before Darcy can reach her, Snape clamps a hand on her shoulder and stops her.

“Wh -?” Darcy stammers, trying to break free of Snape’s grasp while he fumbles in his cloak for the antidote. She looks at Emily and smiles, as if all worries are gone from the world, as if Emily is the only good thing in the world. “Wait - hey!”

Snape’s hand touches her face and as Darcy protests, he dumps a small amount of the antidote into her mouth and she sputters. Snape releases her as Darcy comes around, wiping her mouth and the spilled antidote off her face.

“Ten points to Gryffindor for your potion,” Snape says, getting Darcy’s attention.

Darcy looks at Emily again, but this time, Emily is smiling. “All right!”

“And fifteen points from Gryffindor for being late.”

As Snape sweeps away, Darcy turns to her friend and sighs. “I should have known there’d be a catch.”

* * *

“I’m telling you, you looked like you were in love with me,” Emily says. “And I didn’t like the look in your eyes.”

“It was a love potion,” Darcy sighs, a slight blush creeping up on her face. “What did you expect me to do? That was the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me, so would you quit talking about it to everyone?”

“Could’ve been worse…” Emily teases.

“No, it couldn’t have. So shut up about it already.”

“Snape could have given it to you,” Emily jests. “And I’d still be laughing if I saw you look at Snape the same way you looked at me.”

“Shut up,” Darcy repeats and she rushes ahead of Emily, ruffling Harry’s hair as she passes him to get a plate for dinner. She loads it up with food, making sure she’ll have enough that she won’t get hungry before bed, and curses herself for not being able to have any dessert. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tell me how it goes!”

Darcy takes her plate and speed walks to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room. The corridors are quite deserted and Darcy’s stomach growls loudly with the smell of her dinner wafting into her nostrils. Lunch had been a terrible ordeal after Potions and, despite Hermione telling her that she had nothing to be ashamed of, Darcy was still highly embarrassed and spent the remainder of lunch in her dormitory reading.

She enters Lupin’s classroom and as she climbs the few steps to his office, the door opens and he’s standing there, holding the door open for her. “I thought I heard footsteps,” he says. “Good of you to join me, Darcy.”

“I thought I didn’t have a choice,” she replies warily, walking into his office.

“I’m just being polite,” he answers, closing the door behind her. “Here -” With a wave of his wand, a chair comes flying from the corner of his office and rests in front of his desk. “Sit.”

Darcy walks quickly to the chair and Lupin moves the piles of papers around so she has room to set her plate down. She watches him sit down and, after a few seconds of staring at each other, Lupin laughs.

“Go ahead, eat. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

She nods and reaches for her corn on the cob, but hesitates. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” she asks. “You don’t have any food, and you’re going to miss the feast.”

“I appreciate it, Darcy, but I’ll be fine. Now, go on - eat! The sooner you finish, the sooner we get started, and the sooner you leave.”

It takes Darcy only twenty minutes to eat her dinner, and by that time, she’s feeling nauseous. She pushes her plate aside and sighs deeply and contently, leaning back in her seat. Lupin looks up from his work and smiles, something he seems to do a lot.

“These are easy enough,” he says, pushing a stack of papers towards her and a quill. “First years, so you should know all of the answers.”

Darcy nods and looks down at the first paper.

“You’re an excellent student, you know,” he says suddenly, not looking up from his papers. “You talk a bit more than I like, but I can’t deny you are a good student.”  

“Thank you,” Darcy smiles weakly. “And I’m sorry, Professor. I’ll try not to talk much during lessons anymore.”

“You’re very much like your mother, you know.”

Darcy looks up, an incredulous look on her face. “My mother? You knew my mother?” she asks. “And you didn’t mention this to me?”

Lupin puts his quill down and holds his hands on the desk in front of him. Darcy stares at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, I knew your mother,” he says stiffly. “I knew exactly who you were the moment I first saw you. You look just like her, and Harry like your father.”

She looks down into her lap, quiet.

“Your mother was kind, humble, and fair,” Lupin reminisces. “All the things that James wasn’t.” He laughs quietly to himself, pauses for a moment, and leans in towards her. “Do you remember anything about them?”

“I -” Darcy purses her lips, placing her quill on the desk and holding her hands in her lap. “Very little. I was young, and my aunt and uncle don’t allow us to speak of our parents.” But all she can think about is the night on the train - the dementors causing her to relive the most painful memory she can remember. She looks Lupin directly in the eyes - she can trust him, can’t she? “When the dementor came onto the train, I - remembered things…”

“So did Harry,” Lupin tells her seriously. “When he collapsed, what do you think he saw? What kind of memory do you think would cause Harry to collapse like that?”

Darcy shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me,” she says. “It was awful, Professor.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Darcy.” He opens one the drawers in the desk and pulls out a box of tissues, offering them to her. Darcy touches her cheeks, unaware of the tears that had started to fall.

“I’m sorry,” she scoffs, wiping them quickly away. Lupin pushes the tissues towards her. “I just don’t like them.”

“The dementors? I don’t blame you. No one does,” Lupin sighs. “Dumbledore won’t let them get that close to his students again. That won’t happen to you again.”

Darcy composes herself. “Maybe we could talk about it sometime,” she whispers.

“Of course,” Lupin nods. He watches Darcy pick up her quill again and continue grading papers. He twirls his quill in his fingers. “Your mother and father were good to me. I see them both in you.”

She can’t help but to smile.

At 9 o’clock that night, Lupin allows Darcy to return to her common room. Darcy takes a minute to organize her stack of graded papers, and by that time, Lupin’s paperwork is complete. Lupin walks her to the door and holds it open for her.

“Goodnight, Darcy. Don’t forget about your homework due tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” she chuckles. As she heads down the stairs into his classroom, she stops and turns around just before Lupin shuts the door. “Professor?”

Lupin sticks his head out from his office. “Yes?”

“Maybe we could do this again?”

“I hope you don’t mean the detention part of it.” He grins, baring his teeth. Darcy smiles back. “Of course, Darcy. How about next week? I hope you’re not too busy to entertain an old man like myself.”

“Yeah,” Darcy agrees. “Next week will be fine.”

“Excellent. Now, off to bed with you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new years from a very hungover me

_ Darcy… _

A beautiful, sing-song kind of voice, that calmed you during the most troublesome times. A voice that could have convinced you to do anything. A soft and gentle voice — a mother’s voice.  _ Her _ mother’s voice.

Her mother whispers to her through the bars of Harry’s crib. Darcy can feel the smooth wood pressing against her face, can feel her mother’s warm breath on her lips. Her mother’s skin is beautiful and fair — milky white with light freckles spattered across her face. Her eyes are green — the same color green that her own eyes are, and Harry’s. Her eyes are green and wide and full of tears. 

Tears are running down her cheeks. Her beautiful, pale cheeks. Her beautiful, smooth skin. Salty tears run into her mouth, dripping off her face, smearing on the crib as she presses her face to it to kiss Darcy on the mouth. Her lips are soft and her kisses loving. One kiss on the mouth, one on her nose, one on her forehead. Another one on her mouth, another one on her nose, another one on her forehead.

_ Please  _ —  _ I’ll do anything  _ —

A flash of green, a glimpse of red, a loud  _ thump _ ! 

She starts to cry. Crying hard, real tears, heavy sobs — uncontrollable crying. She holds her brother to her as he squirms in her arms, trying to escape, trying to see the man who had entered his bedroom. 

_ Darcy  _ —

Pain shoots up her legs. Hands touch her face. But they aren’t her mother’s hands — these hands are calloused and larger than her mother’s, but they’re gentle, loving, protective. Thick arms lift her from the ground and she nuzzles into warm, familiar skin.

“Darcy!”

Soft and gentle hands. They shake Darcy roughly, shaking her awake. Her eyes open quickly to find Emily standing over her, her fingernails digging into Darcy’s arms. Emily’s eyes are wide, but she doesn’t seem very surprised to find Darcy in this situation, but she does seem concerned.

Emily has waken the other girls in the dormitory while waking Darcy, and the three other girls flock to Darcy’s side. Julia, Darcy’s favorite out of the three, brings her a glass of water; Delilah opens the nearest window to let in fresh, cool air; Sarah watches on curiously.

“I’m fine,” Darcy mutters, sitting up. She wriggles out of Emily’s grip and throws her blankets off her. She’s drenched in sweat, and she splashes water out of the basin onto her face. When she turns around, she notices everyone still staring at her. Darcy frowns at them all. Just a single look at the three girls and they grab their robes quickly, throwing them on and hurrying out the door to leave Emily and Darcy alone. 

“Darcy…” Emily begins in a serious tone, crossing her arms. 

“I know,” she snaps. “I know, I know, I know. You don’t have to say it.”

Emily watches Darcy dress, her eyebrows raised almost to her hairline. “Does Harry know?”

“Harry and I have shared a room at our aunt and uncle’s house for two summers now,” Darcy hisses at Emily, not bothering to look up at her as she pulls a pair of pants on. “Of course he knows I have nightmares.”

“Does he know they’re getting worse?”

“He doesn’t need to know.”

“Darcy, I can’t wake you like that every morning. You need to tell someone. Madam Pomfrey might have something to help with them.”

“Madam Pomfrey won’t be able to do anything,” Darcy says, though she does entertain the idea for a moment. “I’m fine. They say it always gets worse before it gets better.”

Emily scoffs. “Who the fuck says that?”

“I don’t know!” Darcy shouts, switching her pajama shirt for a sweater. 

“Aren’t you having lunch with Lupin again soon? Why don’t you tell him?”

“Why would I tell him?”

Emily shrugs, throwing up her hands in surrender. “Maybe we could visit Hagrid today,” she sighs, defeated. “He’ll listen.”

Darcy moves to the open window, letting the air blow on her face. Emily moves closer to her, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently. Darcy tenses and Emily lowers her hand. “That dream…” Darcy begins. “It was so real, I — I saw my mum die. She was — right there. She kissed me. She spoke to me.” She touches her lips, her nose, her forehead.

Emily is quiet for once, tears welling in her eyes. In all their years, Darcy had never told Emily what happened that night, insisting that she couldn’t remember, that she was too little. Emily, being the good friend she is, never delved deeper, never asked for details, never cared to know so long as Darcy never wanted to tell her. 

“Emily,” Darcy cries softly. “I remember.”

* * *

“Have you spoken to him? Professor Lupin?” Darcy asks, stroking her owl as he nuzzles into her. Max is quite fond of her, rubbing his face all over her’s. She looks over to Harry, who’s finally coerced Hedwig down onto his arm. She looks at him indignantly and finally hoots when he gives her a treat. Max flutters over to steal a treat himself, ruffling his feathers.

The Owlery is rather chilly this morning and cool, autumn winds blow their hair around. Darcy pushes her own auburn hair out of her face and tucks some behind her ears, but to no avail. She watches Harry feed Max some owl treats and he takes them eagerly, flying up to the top of the Owlery with his beak full of food. “Once or twice — and during class,” Harry replies.

“He’s very kind,” Darcy says. “He knew our parents.”

Harry looks at Darcy sideways, peering up at the many owls perched on the high beams. Most of them are resting, but some look down at Harry and Darcy suspiciously, keeping a close eye on Hedwig and Max. “He’s mentioned mum and dad to me,” Harry shrugs. “I like him. He’s way better than Lockhart was.”

Darcy smiles at her brother as he looks out the window, down at the mountain range surrounding them. Snow already covers the peaks of the higher mountains and she knows it will not be long until that snow comes to Hogwarts. Slowly, her smile falls, and knows she must tell Harry what she brought him up here to say.

“I’m having nightmares again,” she says solemnly. “They’re worse than before. They’re clear and — and it’s like I’m  _ there _ , in the house — in  _ our _ house —”

“Emily told me.”

Darcy grows angry at her friend, but it goes away suddenly, knowing that  _ of course _ Emily would tell Harry. “Of course she did,” Darcy laughs quietly. “She means well.”

“Have you told anyone?”

“Emily. And you.”

“No offense, but I don’t think Emily has much experience with nightmares about Voldemort killing our parents.”

“I was thinking about talking to Professor Lupin,” she says, watching Harry closely to see his reaction. To her surprise, he hardly reacts at all. He holds on tight to the railing that keeps them from falling from the Owlery, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. 

“You could.”

“I don’t want him to think of me any differently,” she admits. “I don’t want him to think me as weak or — or — troubled.”

“Then don’t tell him.”

“You’re not helping!”

“I’m sorry!” Harry snaps.

He turns on his heels to face her and Darcy sighs. She’s bursting to tell him everything, to tell him the other half of the reason she’s been so frightened this year. She remembers clearly what Mr. Weasley had told her in her bedroom at the Leaky Cauldron. She had promised him she wouldn’t let Harry go looking for Sirius Black, not that she wouldn’t tell him. Mr. Weasley would probably expect her to tell Harry, wouldn’t he?

“Harry, I have to tell you something.”

This gets his attention. Harry looks at her, waiting for her to continue. 

“Sirius Black is —”

“After me? I know.”

Darcy is stunned into silence for a few moments. Harry’s reaction is the very last thing she expected. “You know?” she stammers. “How could you possibly know?”

Harry smiles, slightly embarrassed. “I heard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley talking about it at the Leaky Cauldron one night — I wasn’t eavesdropping… I just heard them talking and I didn’t exactly move to walk away. And then Mr. Weasley, he — he told me. You know how hard it is for him to keep a secret.”

Darcy smiles fondly at the thought of Mr. Weasley. “Are you afraid?” she asks. 

Harry thinks for a moment. “No,” he finally says. “No, I’m not. I’m safe here. Hogwarts is the safest place in the world.”

“How can you believe that? After all that’s happened here? To us? To  _ you _ ?”

He doesn’t hesitate this time. “Dumbledore’s here.”

Darcy and Harry make their way to the Great Hall for breakfast a little while later, arriving slightly after everyone else. She waves to Carla as she passes the Hufflepuff table and sits beside Harry and Emily at the Gryffindor table. Emily has already made a plate for her, and Darcy sees that a few of her sausages have large bites taken out of them. 

Emily wipes her face with her napkin and smirks. “Professor McGonagall made sure I’d tell you that she noticed you weren’t at breakfast on time,” Emily smiles. “And she wants me to ask you how the Weasleys’ would feel if they had to receive another letter from her.”

“It’s a Saturday,” she growls. “Since when was it a rule that I had to be at breakfast right on time?”

“Lupin probably told her he caught us,” Emily suggests, glancing at the teacher’s table. “Or she’s just generally suspicious of you.”

Darcy glances up at the teachers’ table, looking at McGonagall. She doesn’t even notice Darcy’s stare — she’s deep in conversation with Professor Dumbledore, her thin eyebrows furrowed. She then looks to Hagrid. He’s chatting with Professor Sprout, waving his large arms about and almost knocking the Herbology professor in the back of the head multiple times. Hagrid doesn’t notice her looking, either. Finally, she shifts her gaze to Lupin, who’s listening to Professor Flitwick talk his ear off, mainly focusing on his breakfast.

Lupin looks up when Darcy’s eyes find him, picking her out of all the other Gryffindors immediately. He smiles at her, lips stretched tight as he swallows the rest of his food. Darcy smiles back, but when Emily taps her arm, she looks away. 

“I’m going to tell Professor Lupin,” Darcy says suddenly, and Emily raises an eyebrow.

“Were you listening to anything I just said?”

“What?”

Emily looks at her with a smug grin, chuckling to herself. “Can you pass the sausage?”

Darcy hands her the platter of sausage and Emily forks a few onto her own plate. “Did you get the paper today?” Darcy asks her.

“Max brought it,” Emily replies, digging in her bag to retrieve it. “Don’t worry, I made sure he got a treat. I let him eat some of your sausages.”

Darcy scrunches her nose. “I thought  _ you _ ate my sausages — gross!”

Emily hands her the  _ Daily Prophet _ and Darcy snatches it out of her hands. She scans the front page, looking for something interesting. When she opens it to the first page, Sirius Black’s face is staring up at her, baring his rotting teeth and shrieking silently at her. She closes the newspaper straightaway, placing it on the table in front of her. 

“I can’t bear the sight of him,” she mutters, folding the paper up and shoving it back into Emily’s hands. “If I have to see that damned photograph of him again, I’ll go mad. It’s the stuff nightmares are made of.”

“Though not yours, hm?”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.” Emily sighs, placing her fork on her plate and pushing it away. “I’m glad you’re going to talk to someone.”

“Which reminds me — why did you tell Harry about my nightmares?” Darcy asks, a little too accusingly. 

“Because I love you and you know that,” Emily says, rubbing Darcy’s arm and smiling weakly. “It’s not good to keep these things to yourself. They’ll only get worse if you bottle it all up.”

Breakfast comes to an end quickly; dirty plates, half eaten food, and empty platters disappear before their very eyes and the teachers watch the students move towards the tall doors to begin their weekend. Darcy and Emily stay for a little while, to avoid the clamor of excited students. Darcy rests her head upon her hand, elbow upon the table. 

As the students file out and the crowd begins to thin, the teachers stand and make their way down the Great Hall. Darcy and Emily are the only two left at Gryffindor table, and they stand as Professor Lupin walks past them with a smile and a nod to both of them. 

“Professor Lupin!” Darcy blurts out and she stumbles over the bench and into the aisle. She chases him for a few paces, touching his arm to get his attention before he exits the Great Hall. “Professor Lupin.” He stops in his tracks and turns. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he says, holding his hands behind his back. He looks Darcy up and down and frowns. “Are you feeling well, Darcy? You look ill.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I’m sorry to hear,” he replies sympathetically before smiling again. “I’m sorry — go on, Darcy, ask away.”

Darcy pauses, her cheeks turning pink. She waits for Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore to pass. Professor McGonagall squeezes her shoulder gently as she passes. “I — er, well —”

“Don’t be nervous,” he laughs. Lupin raises his eyebrows, prompting her to continue.

“I thought perhaps we could have dinner tonight. I — well, there’s been something on my mind, and I can’t wait any longer.”

To her surprise, Lupin finds that idea quite agreeable. His eyes flick over Darcy’s shoulder as Emily approaches. “I’ll have dinner brought up.” He flashes a small smile at Emily. “Miss Duncan. Enjoy your weekend, ladies. I’ll see you tonight, Darcy.”

* * *

“So you’re telling me — Sirius Black escaped Azkaban just to kill Harry?”

“That’s what Mr. Weasley told me. And Harry heard it from him, as well.”

Carla flicks her wand, her face set and purple from concentrating so hard. Darcy waves her wand lazily and blocks the spell coming right for her. Her shield charm disappears into thin air and Carla grumbles under her breath. 

Emily sits off to the side, knitting a new sweater. Her fingers work furiously, her wand lying at her side on the desk she sits atop. “So that’s why the dementors are here, then,” Emily concludes. “Because Sirius Black is trying to get into Hogwarts.”

“Yes,” Darcy answers. “Harry’s certain that we’re safe here.”

“Is he?” Emily snorts. “After all that’s happened?”

Darcy smiles warmly at Emily. “Exactly!”

“I feel like I should be more surprised about this than I am,” Emily ponders. “But for some reason, I feel like deep down, I always knew that Sirius Black escaping had something to do with you damn Potter kids.”

“That’s not funny.”

Carla casts another spell without speaking, but Darcy blocks it again. She casts another, and another, and another, inching closer to Darcy all the while, but Darcy blocks them all. Carla moves closer again and traps Darcy against the wall of the empty classroom, but this time when she casts a spell, Darcy’s shield charm causes the hex to rebound and Carla crumples to the ground.

Darcy moves quickly towards her and Emily jumps off the desk, throwing her needles aside. Carla’s hands are covering her mouth and tears stream down her cheeks. Darcy grasps her wrists and pulls her hands away from her face; Carla’s teeth are growing and growing, longer and longer. Pointing her wand at Carla’s teeth, Darcy mutters, “ _ Reducio _ .”

Carla’s teeth begin to shrink, and when they’re the same size they were before, Darcy puts her wand away and helps her friend to her feet. “Thank you,” she utters.

Darcy frowns. “You were trying to hex me!” she shouts. “The deal was I’ll help you with nonverbal spells, but you can’t use any hexes!”

“I didn’t mean to use that spell!”

“What did you mean to do?”

“I just meant to make you dance!”

“Almost time for dinner,” Emily announces, checking her watch. “We should head down. Come on, Carla, we can walk together.”

“Aren’t you coming, Darcy?” Carla asks, grabbing her bag off the floor and stuffing her wand into it. 

“She’s got an important dinner date tonight,” Emily jests, putting her needles and yarn away and slinging her own bag over her shoulder. “With Professor Lupin. And you best believe that I will be asking him if you told him about your nightmares.”

“Nightmares?” Carla snaps, narrowing her eyes at Darcy. “You’re having nightmares again?”

Darcy gives Emily a sideways look. “They never really stopped,” she mutters. “It doesn’t matter. Emily, you’re not asking him anything.”

“Of course I will. You told me you’d tell him about it, and I just want to make sure you followed up on that promise.”

Carla looks hesitant, tying her hair up in a ponytail. She seems to be fighting to say what she wants to say. “You don’t find that a little… sketchy?” she asks, not unkindly. 

“Find what sketchy?” Darcy cocks an eyebrow.

“Having dinner with Professor Lupin. In his office. By yourselves.”

“No,” Darcy replies. “He’s a family friend. Or — was, I suppose.” She grows quiet for a moment. “He’s kind to me, and I would feel more comfortable speaking to him about my nightmares than to anyone else. He wouldn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“Well, I mean —” Carla fumbles for words. “Sure. But maybe it isn’t so smart to be alone with someone you don’t know, with Sirius Black on the loose. And if what you say is true… that he’s coming after Harry… Darcy you don’t really know Professor Lupin.”

“I know him well enough that I’m certain he’s not plotting with Sirius Black to kill me. And he said he knew my parents.”

“He could be lying to you.”

“No,” Darcy replies quietly. “No, he’s not lying. He knew me — he knew who I was.”

“Everyone knows who you are,” Carla retorts. “Just because he knew who you were doesn’t mean that —”

“Carla, stop scaring her,” Emily interrupts. “Lupin isn’t out to get her. Besides, he looks like a strong gust of wind could knock him over. I don’t think Darcy has anything to worry about.” She throws an arm around Carla’s shoulders, escorting her to the door. “We’ll see you later, Darcy. Be sure to be in bed by curfew — Carla might send all of the students in Hufflepuff to look for your corpse if you’re a minute late.”


	11. Chapter 11

For twenty minutes, the only sound in the office is the clinking of silverware against plates. Darcy doesn’t look up from her food, but can feel Lupin watching her. She saws feverishly at her thick slice of roast beef, sticking a large chunk in her mouth and chewing it for a long while. 

After another ten minutes of silence, Lupin clears his throat, sitting back in his seat and wiping his face with his napkin. Darcy puts her silverware down and looks up at him, faltering under his stare. She looks him in the eyes and pushes her plate slightly away from her, taking a long drink of water. Lupin looks away and runs a hand through his hair.

Darcy puts her glass down, fingering the rim of it. She gives him a once over, studying him, the bridge of her nose wrinkling and her lips pursing. Lupin looks at her again, clearly uncomfortable under such scrutiny. Finally, she sits up straighter and sniffles. “Are you going to kill me?” she asks.

Lupin opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. He tilts his head to the side and gives her a blank stare. “What?” He laughs. “Is that what’s been troubling your sleep? That’s what you wanted to ask me? You think I want to kill you?” He continues to laugh until he realizes that Darcy isn’t even smiling. 

She nods, relaxing a little. “I just had to ask,” she sighs. “My friend — she thought you might be out to hurt me. I didn’t believe her, but she’s always paranoid and she has a way of getting into your head.”

“If I did want to murder you, I probably wouldn’t have told you the truth about it when you asked.” Lupin shrugs, the corners of his lips turning upwards again. “And I probably would have killed you already if I was going to.”

“That’s very reassuring, sir.”

“Please —” Lupin says, standing and walking to a trunk in the corner of the room. He fumbles with the latches for a moment and digs inside, pulling out a kettle and two small teacups. “No need for such formalities, Darcy.” In his desk drawer are two teabags and he places one in each of the cups. “Maybe some tea will calm you down and help you realize I’m no killer.”

“Thank you, but — I don’t really care for tea.”

“Oh? Well, I’m afraid it’s all I have.” Lupin uses his wand to put the extra teacup onto an empty shelf. He waves his wand again, pointing it at the kettle, then taps it hard and it begins to scream. Darcy watches him pour the boiling water into his teacup. “What do you prefer?”

“Hot cocoa,” she replies with a small smile. 

“Well, next time, Darcy, I’ll be sure to have some on hand.” Lupin waves his wand again and the kettle floats back to the shelf, coming to rest beside the teacup. “Now, I’m anxious to hear what’s on your mind.”

Darcy licks her lips and looks away from him, to the cup of steaming tea in front of him. She had practiced exactly what she was going to say on the way to his office, had stood outside his door perfecting it until she was prepared, and as soon as she entered, everything changed. Her stomach churned at the thought of describing her violent nightmare, the memory that changed her entire life. 

“Could you tell me more about my mother?” she asks wistfully. “I remember so little of her.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” she replies without hesitation. “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

Lupin chuckles. “She was very pretty, and much more than that.”

Darcy smiles sadly. “Two years ago, Harry and I found this — this mirror in an empty classroom. The Mirror of Erised, Dumbledore called it. Do you know what it does?”

“Tell me.”

She pauses. By the look on his face, Darcy feels as if he already knows about the Mirror of Erised, but she continues anyway. “It shows a person their heart’s greatest desire,” she whispers, remembering the nights she and Harry had spent curled up beside each other on the cold ground, staring into the mirror. “And I saw my parents, and Harry, and me. And I remember thinking that my mother was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.” 

Lupin listens intently, and when he’s certain that she’s finished talking, he asks, “Is this what’s been on your mind?”

Darcy shakes her head slowly. After another long silence, she exhales loudly and forces herself to speak. “I have nightmares,” she says, glancing at Lupin to see if she can catch his reaction. She expects him to laugh, no matter how ridiculous, or maybe even scoff. But he doesn’t do either of those things. He frowns slightly, but continues to listen. “I’ve had them for as long as I can remember. They come and go often, and I rarely remember what happens, but I usually wake up with this feeling of dread and sorrow and sadness, and — they’re awful.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. 

“They’ve been getting worse,” she admits. “Over the summer, my dreams have been different. I dream that I’m trapped and screaming and — and I need help. Someone always comes to help me, but I can’t see his face, but he’s not… bad.”

“The same dream every time?”

“Until the dementor on the train.”

“I see.”

Darcy’s hands begin to tremble as she recalls her nightmare. “I see her now. In my dreams, my mother is there, right in front of me, and she’s talking to me and kissing me —” She touches her lips, her nose, her forehead. Darcy lowers her hand and looks into Lupin’s eyes. “I watch her die, right in front of me. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. It’s so —  _ real _ .”

For once, Lupin seems speechless. It seems the color has drained from his face and Darcy immediately regrets telling him anything. She stands quickly and the chair underneath her scrapes against the floor. Tears well in her eyes — angry tears, embarrassed tears. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything — I’ll see you during class —”

“Darcy, sit down,” Lupin snaps, standing up. Then, realizing he may have sounded too harsh, he adds, “Please.”

She does as she’s told, looking down into her lap. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says. “It was stupid, but Emily said I should talk to someone about it, but I wasn’t sure who to talk to, and I never meant to upset you or — or — I know that she was your friend and I’ve brought it all up again — I can’t imagine what you must think of me —”

Lupin lowers himself into his seat again. “What do you imagine I think of you?”

“Foolish,” she laughs nervously. “Childish. Weak.”

He scoffs, causing Darcy to look at him again. He gives her a reassuring smile. “I don’t think of you as any of those things. I think you’re a person who has undergone a tremendous amount of suffering and misfortune in such a short time.” Lupin taps his knuckles softly against the desk. “I’m truly sorry, Darcy. For everything. For your parents, and for the events that have — transpired — in the past few years here at Hogwarts. I know that it won’t bring your parents back, nor will it right any wrongs or injustices that you’ve suffered, but —”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” she interrupts. “I understand. And thank you.”

Lupin nods and drains the rest of his teacup. 

Emboldened by Lupin’s kind reaction to her awful tale, Darcy decides to continue. “There is one more thing,” she says slowly. “If you don’t mind.”

Lupin shrugs and gestures for her to go on.

“It’s about Sirius Black.” The mention of Sirius Black gets Lupin’s attention, drawing out a much different reaction that she expects. Lupin frowns and grows very still, his jaw clenched. “I know he’s after Harry.”

“Who told you that?”

“Mr. Weasley did,” she answers. “He works for the Ministry. He’s Harry’s friend’s dad, and I know he wouldn’t lie to me.”

“You’re safe here, Darcy,” Lupin says flatly. “You have nothing to fear. Sirius Black will not be able to get into this castle to hurt you or your brother.”

His answer unsettles her. It sounds practiced, as if that’s what he’s been taught and told to say. It doesn’t make her feel any safer — it doesn’t reassure her in the slightest. “Tell me the truth,” she breathes. 

Lupin sighs, thinking very carefully about what he wants to say. “Sirius Black escaped Azkaban when no one thought it possible, and he slipped past the dementors once before already. Hogwarts is under a great deal of protection, but there may be ways that Dumbledore isn’t aware of, or the dementors —” Lupin stops short, mouth opening and closing awkwardly as he struggles to finish his thought. “No harm will come to either of you. That I can promise you.”

“You can’t promise that,” she replies in a hushed tone. “Dumbledore promised Harry and me that we’d be safe here, and it was nothing but an empty promise.”

They look at each other for a long time. “You are far too bitter for your age.”

Darcy doesn’t miss a beat, nor does she deny it. “I’ve had a long, hard life.”

Darcy leaves Lupin’s classroom a little while later. The halls are mostly empty now, but the silence is welcome. She walks with her head down, staring at her feet, as they automatically take her to the first staircase that’ll lead her a floor closer to Gryffindor Tower. However, before she can get to the staircase, someone rounds a corner — heavy, quick footsteps — and slams into her.

The smoking goblet in Snape’s hands falls to the floor, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces and the potion it was carrying is quickly absorbed by the floor. Darcy looks up into his face, flinching at the sneer he gives her. 

“Miss Potter,” Snape asks. “What could you possibly be doing roaming the corridors at this time of night?”

“I was with Professor Lupin, sir,” she replies, wanting nothing more than to run up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. “I was just going back to my dormitory now.”

“Make sure that you hurry.”

Upon entering Gryffindor Tower, the common room is still packed with older students. Emily has claimed a seat by the fire, still working on knitting herself a new sweater. She looks up at the portrait hole opens and closes, and puts her needles down when Darcy approaches. 

“You look… tired,” Emily smiles, making room on the sofa for Darcy. 

Darcy falls onto the sofa and closes her eyes, the roaring fire warming her legs and feet. “I am.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

With her eyes still closed, Darcy shifts to make herself more comfortable. “I expected him to — I don’t know… recoil or something after I told him, but… he didn’t.” She smiles to herself. “He listened to me. He sympathized. He understood. And I'm certain he doesn't want to kill me.”

Emily laughs. "Carla will be pleased," she sighs contentedly. "I also want to remind you that talking to Lupin was my idea. Don't forget that."

“I know,” Darcy answers, opening one eye to glance at her friend. “I won’t forget. You always have the best ideas. I should remember that after being your friend for all these years now.”

There’s a sudden silence and Darcy opens both her eyes. Emily is looking into the fire, her smile completely gone. “What’s going to happen to us? After we graduate?” she asks quietly, looking at Darcy, wide-eyed

Darcy doesn’t know what to say. She can’t imagine her life without Hogwarts, and doesn’t want to. Darcy rests her head against Emily’s shoulder and the both watch the flames flicker and listen to them hiss and crackle. “I don’t know.”


	12. Chapter 12

Her nightmares wake her that night — again.

She’s grateful that she hadn’t been moaning or talking in her sleep; when she wakes, everyone else is still sleeping. Darcy sits in bed for a long time, listening to the wind howl outside her window and holding her knees to her chest. After a few long minutes of silence, she climbs out of bed, the ground cold on her bare feet. She leaves the dormitory and walks down the spiral staircase to the empty common room, spreading out on the sofa by the hearth, where the remains of the large fire still smolder.

She had been excited when she went to bed earlier that night. She thought after telling Lupin, with that weight off her shoulders, her sleep would be peaceful and full of good dreams, or no dreams at all. She’d been ready for a good night’s sleep for once, nightmares forgotten. But how wrong she was.

The nightmares had come back  _ again _ and in full force, as well. The same dream as before, but she was ready for it this time — the sight of her mother dying before her. She was ready to watch her crumple to the ground, ready to look Voldemort in his red eyes, ready to hold her little brother and pepper his head with kisses. And the strangest part of it all — the stranger who comes to save her, the stranger that pulls her from debris. When she wakes, she can feel the pain in her legs, feel the weight of the rubble crushing her…

She isn’t sure how many time she can watch her mother die. Her heart aches at the thought of having to relive that moment for… days? Weeks? Months? Or will it be years until she can scrub the image out of her mind again.

Darcy skips breakfast that morning and hides up in the owlery, feeding Max and letting him nuzzle into her. Even Hedwig flutters down to sit atop her shoulder, occasionally getting a few treats herself. When the two owls fly up to hidden, shadowy corners to sleep, Darcy heads back down to the castle.

Halfway to Gryffindor Tower, she looks out a frosted window to see smoke furling from the chimney of Hagrid’s hut and her heart soars at the thought of sitting with him and talking, and having Fang rest his head in her lap. At the thought of a warm and cozy hut, Darcy holds her cloak around her as tight as possible and heads back out the front doors of Hogwarts, into the blustery autumn afternoon.

When Darcy reaches Hagrid’s hut, she raises her hand to knock at the door, but lowers it at the sound of ugly sobbing coming from within. She can hear Fang whining quietly, but Hagrid’s cries deter her. She knows that being a good friend would mean knocking anyway, joining Hagrid in his misery and comforting him, but she can’t. The last thing she wants is more sorrow at the moment, so she backs away slowly, frowning and finally turning back towards the castle.

By the time she reaches the front doors of Hogwarts, her calves are burning from the several trips she’s made today. She looks forward to lying on the sofa in Gryffindor Tower, opening a book, or maybe resting —  _ no _ , she tells herself,  _ resting means nightmares _ . But her thought process is interrupted when someone calls her name and she looks up.

Professor Lupin is hurrying towards her from the Great Hall, where lunch has just ended, though he’s walker slower than usual. He looks just as exhausted as she is, his face pale and eyes drowsy. Darcy thinks about going back to Gryffindor Tower anyway, and just pretending she hadn’t heard him, but he reaches her before she has time to decide what she wants to do. She forces herself to smile at him, but his smile comes naturally. Despite the tired look on his face, his smile gives him the appearance of a man ten years younger.

“Where’ve you been, Darcy?” he asks with a chuckle. “Your friends were worried sick about you when you didn’t show up to breakfast or lunch.”

Darcy shrugs and sighs. “That’s very like them,” she says with a soft laugh. “If you see them, please don’t tell them you’ve seen me, sir.”

Lupin raises his eyebrows. “Understood. They plan on going down to Hagrid’s soon to look for you, so you may want to run the other way before they find you here.”

“Thank you, Professor, I will.”

“I was planning on going for a walk myself,” he continues. “Far from Hagrid’s hut. If it interests you, I could use a companion.”

Darcy smiles awkwardly, not wanting to be rude, but not wanting to accept. “Er — thank you, sir, but I —”

Lupin laughs heartily, nodding his head. “I can take a hint, Darcy,” he says. “Now, go on — best get away from this door before someone finds you.”

She watches him go, watches him limp away towards the first floor corridor, presumably back to his office. Darcy hesitates, clenching and unclenching her fists, then decides to run after him. Darcy’s long legs carry her quickly to Lupin’s side and he seems surprised to find her next to him. “I’ve changed my mind,” she says. “Fresh air sounds wonderful.”

“Let me get my cloak and we’ll go. Come —” he gestures her to follow. “I’ll just be a moment.”

The two of them enter his classroom and make their way slowly to his office. Darcy looks around the classroom for a moment, reflecting on all the ways its been decorated in her years at Hogwarts. Lupin hasn’t done anything fancy or decorative with the classroom, but instead has filled it with the skeletons of creatures, filled bookshelves with dusty, leather-bound books, and — perhaps Darcy’s favorite piece of his — his gramophone, which sits in the corner of the classroom, begging to be put to use. 

“Last year,” Darcy reminisces, as she follows Lupin up the stairs to his office. “Lockhart covered all the walls in the classroom with pictures of himself.”

Lupin laughs. “Oh?”

“Do you know how uncomfortable it was having a hundred Gilderoy Lockhart’s staring at you for an entire double lesson?” she insists, beginning to laugh. “No matter how handsome he was, it was hard to stomach.”

“Why is it that the only thing I ever hear about Gilderoy Lockhart is how handsome he was?”

“Because that’s the only redeeming quality he had.” Darcy takes one last long look around the classroom before entering the office. “He was also arrogant, obnoxious — not to mention he was a fraud. I’d say you have him beat, and you haven’t even been here for three months yet.”

Lupin’s back to turned to her, but he looks over his shoulder and grins. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Darcy.” He pushes against the wall and it opens, to Darcy’s surprise, revealing a back room. Lupin walks through the wall and Darcy creeps closer, curious. He doesn’t stop her crossing the threshold, so she continues, wide-eyed.

Inside the wall is what seems to be Lupin’s apartment. It’s small, but cozy, with an old and worn sofa in front of a small fireplace, several books stacked on the table in between. Under Darcy’s feet is a large, circular, roughspun rug of brown and gray and green. On the opposite wall there’s a good amount of counter space, complete with a sink, a silver kettle, and a small basket filled with tea bags. There’s just enough light in the room to read, with several sconces holding burning candles and other candles floating at the ceiling like they so often do in the Great Hall. In the back of the room, Darcy spies another door, presumably to his sleeping area, but Lupin doesn’t open it. He only grabs a heavy, black traveling cloak off a coat rack and both of them exit the area, back into his office.

“You thought I slept in my office?” he teases.

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” she admits. “But the secret door is pretty cool.”

Lupin leads Darcy around the lake, towards the edge of the grounds and towards the trees that will give them shelter from the bright sun. They comment on the beautiful, crisp, mountain weather, admire the still lake together, and Lupin tells her a funny story about a second year in one of his classes. Halfway around the lake, Lupin’s pace slows, and when Darcy looks at him, it’s clear something is wrong.

“Professor Lupin? Are you feeling well? Perhaps we should go back to the castle, maybe take you to Madam Pomfrey.”

“Ah, she’ll only chastise me. She’s been telling me to get some rest since I’ve arrived,” he jests.

“She means well.” Darcy hooks her arm around Lupin’s, steadying him. “And if she tells you to rest, it’s probably in your best interests. Here, Professor, let me help you.”

“Thank you, Darcy. Just a little further, and there should be a clearing where we can sit.”

They walk together, side by side, arm in arm, in silence. She’s very aware — uncomfortably aware — of the warmth spreading up the arm that’s touching his, and every so often their shoulders bump. But he’s right. A few paces into the thicket of trees is a clearing, with a flat rock wide enough to seat four people side by side. Darcy helps Lupin up onto the rock and she’s too tempted by the thick branch above the rock not to climb it. 

Darcy scurries up the trunk of the tree, making her way to the end of the branch and hanging by her legs. When she turns her head to the right, Lupin is eye-level with her. 

“Please be careful,” he begs. “No one would ever forgive me if I let you fall onto your head.”

The blood rushes to her head, making her temples pound angrily. Darcy brings herself to sitting position and swings her dangling legs. The birds sing all around them, the wind whispering with their song. When they begin to quiet, Darcy frowns.

“Tell me, Darcy,” Lupin begins again. “Seventh year goes by quicker than you realize. What are your plans?”

Darcy flushes. “My plans are stupid,” she mumbles. “Emily says so. But she’s different — she hasn’t even graduated yet and she’s already so focused on her career, it’s all she can think about. How she’ll be an independent woman who only needs to —”

“Darcy,” he interrupts with a small smile. “I didn’t ask about Emily’s future. I asked about yours.”

“I’d like to go into the Ministry. Magical Law Enforcement in particular, but Emily and I have always fantasized about being Aurors.”

Lupin stares blankly at her. “I don’t see what’s so stupid about that,” he shrugs. “That sounds like an admirable and achievable goal.”

Darcy grins at him. The words tumble from her mouth before she can give them a second thought. Slowly, her smile fades and she becomes much more solemn. “I want a family. I want to get married and have children. Children who will never have to know what it’s like to be without their parents.” She picks at her fingernails, trying to look anywhere but at Lupin’s face. “Emily says that makes me soft — she says I should be strong and bold and brave to work at the Ministry, but just because I am soft doesn’t mean I can’t be any of those other things.”

“You’re a Gryffindor,” Lupin reminds her. “If you weren’t those things — strong, bold, brave — then you wouldn’t be in Gryffindor.” She flashes him another shy smile and he continues. “Your mother… she was kind and gentle, like you are, Darcy. But she was also fierce when she needed to be — to stand up for her friends, protect what she loved. Just because she was gentle did not mean she could not be fierce.”

Darcy purses her lips. “Do you only see me as Lily and James’s daughter?” she asks quietly, sliding down from the tree branch to the rock. “Am I nothing other than the daughter of your friends? A girl you feel obligated to be nice to because you pity me?”

“I don’t pity you,” he whispers. “I sympathize with you, certainly, but not pity.” Lupin inhales deeply and offers an apologetic smile. “I imagine you must get tired of people feigning interest in you.”

“In all my time at Hogwarts, I’ve never been Darcy Potter to anyone but Emily and Carla,” she says softly, venom in her voice. “I’ve always been sister to the Boy-Who-Lived — the other Potter sibling. To professors, I’ve been Lily and James’s daughter. Their legacy. But no one knows — no one cares that I’ve suffered, too. No one remembers that I hurt, that I feel.”

Lupin is quiet for a long time. Finally, when the silence has been long enough, he says, “Why don’t go back to the castle? I’ve just recently come into a supply of hot cocoa and I could use some help grading some essays.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but ya gotta have those fillers, am i rite

“Darcy Potter — where have you  _ been _ ?”

Darcy freezes as soon as she steps foot inside the Gryffindor common room. Emily and Harry are sitting on the sofa nearest the fireplace, the best spot in the entire room. The fire is blazing, crackling merrily, despite most students already being tucked into their warm beds. A few older students are still awake, finishing their homework last minute, but at Emily’s shrill voice, they look up at Darcy. Darcy checks her watch; it’s a little later than half past nine. Her cheeks turn bright red and she slinks towards the couch, trying to ignore everyone’s eyes on the back of her head. 

“Out,” Darcy replies, sliding out of her cloak and warming herself before the fire. 

Emily snorts. “This is Hogwarts, not Soho,” she shoots back. “You don’t just ‘go out’ at Hogwarts.”

Darcy doesn’t respond, turning her back on Emily and Harry, holding her hands out in front of the fire, her cloak draped over her forearm. She closes her eyes, letting the warmth wash over her.

“Darcy, we were worried sick about you,” Emily presses on quietly. She touches Harry’s shoulder, resting her head against his. “You were gone when I woke up, and I haven’t seen you since last night. Carla and I looked for you all day — in the owlery, the library, Hagrid’s… you weren’t anywhere. What could you have possibly been doing?”

Turning around, Darcy sighs. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went up to the owlery to see Max,” she recalls. “Then I ran into Professor Lupin and we went for a walk.”

Emily and Harry exchange a meaningful glance that Darcy doesn’t fail to notice. “You were with Professor Lupin all night?” Emily asks warily. “He promised Carla and me that he would send you straight to us if he found you!” She looks over her shoulder at the other students huddled against the opposite wall to make sure they aren’t listening. “Did you walk to London and back?”

Darcy stares at Emily and laughs awkwardly. “All right,  _ mum _ .”

“Darcy —” Emily hisses. “You can’t just spend the evenings with your teacher. That’s unnatural.”

Scoffing, Darcy crosses her arms defensively. “I thought you were on my side — Professor Lupin would never hurt me —”

“I know he wouldn’t,” she answers, her voice going up an octave. “I believe you. I don’t think he would hurt you, honestly. But it’s not about that. He’s your teacher and you can’t just — just — you know, do things like this with him. It’s not right.”

“Professor Lupin knew my parents, Emily,” Darcy protests, frowning. “Forgive me if I’d like to spend some of my time with someone who has connections to my mum and dad. Like you would have any idea how that feels.”

Emily sighs, pursing her lips. “I understand you, Darcy, and you know that I do. And you must also know that I want what’s best for you.” She stands, smoothing Darcy’s hair and smiling weakly. “Get some sleep. I love you.”

Emily retreats up to the dormitory, leaving Harry and Darcy alone by the fire. She sits down next to him, chewing at her lower lip and throwing her cloak over the arm of the sofa. “Where are Ron and Hermione?” she finally asks. “Surely not already sleeping?”

“Bed,” he says. “Once Emily made it clear that she would be confronting you, I think they were a bit uncomfortable with the idea.”

“I’m sorry I worried you,” she grins, trying to flatten his hair, knowing that no matter what, his hair will do whatever it wants. Darcy sits back, tucking her legs underneath her and hesitating before continuing. “That wasn’t my intention. I just needed to… get away.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Harry shrugs. “Emily wanted me to sit with her so you might feel a little guilty.”

Darcy laughs softly, shifting in her seat. She watches Harry’s tired eyes stare into the fire, his eyelids heavy behind his glasses. “Harry,” she whispers. “Can I ask you something?”

Harry hums in response.

“That day on the train, with the dementor,” she starts, suddenly feeling ashamed for asking. She knows what his answer is going to be. She knows already the only thing that could have made him faint on the Hogwarts Express. “What did you see?”

He looks at her, with a look that speaks volumes. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and Darcy doesn’t want to press him, but he answers anyway. “It’s not what I saw,” he says, suddenly shivering. “It’s what I heard. Screaming — a woman’s —” Harry looks at Darcy with a very solemn look. “Is it mum? I’m hearing her dying, aren’t I?”

Darcy looks away, back towards the fire. “Yes. I think so.”

“Tell me about your nightmares,” he pleads. “Tell me about her.”

“I’ve told you all I remember about her, and you know about my nightmares,” she retorts. “Why would you want me to describe them to you in painful detail?”

“Because I thought we don’t keep secrets from each other.”

She inhales deeply, running a hand through her hair, remembering the most painful memory she’s ever known, all for the sake of her brother. All because he asked. The nightmare comes easily to her, ingrained in her brain. “It’s the three of us — you, mum, and me — in your bedroom. We’re in your crib, there’s a soft blue blanket hanging over the rail, a stuffed bear in one of the corners. Dad got it for you when you were born.” She licks her lips, leaning back on the sofa, closing her eyes, reliving everything. “It’s raining outside. I can hear it against the window. Mum’s talking to me through the bars of your crib.” The corners of her lips turn upward slightly. “She whispering to me, telling me she loves me, kissing me — my mouth, my nose, my forehead. She’s so beautiful, Harry, and she’s saying goodbye to me.”

Harry listens, still as a statue.

“Then I see a flash of green light and mum — she’s dead, on the floor in front of me.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “You’re crying. I’m crying — and then… it — changes… the house is gone, it’s destroyed, and I’m lying in the remains of our home, and my legs are being crushed under the weight of all of it.” She touches her shins as a dull pain shoots up her legs. “And someone comes to me, and they pull me to them, and I — I love them, I think. They’re familiar and they hold me and I don’t want them to let go and then — I wake up. I never get to see their face.”

“You dream that every night?”

“No,” she replies. “I haven’t dreamt it for a long time.” Darcy looks down at her hands, which are trembling violently. She wipes the sweat on her palms off on her pants. “Then the dementors came onto the train and it started to come back to me.”

When she looks at Harry, she can see that he’s paled. There’s sweat forming on his hairline and he wipes his forehead with his sleeve. He composes himself and looks at his sister. “Where were you tonight?” he asks. “Where were you really?”

“I was with Professor Lupin,” she says. “We went for a walk and then I helped him grade some papers.”

Harry nods.

“Did you finish your homework?”

“Yes, I did,” he frowns. “And Hermione’s already asked, thank you.”

“Then go on,” she says with raised eyebrows, nodding towards the spiral staircase. “Past your bedtime, don’t you think?”

Harry stares at Darcy, his lips parted, looking ready for a fight. “All right. I’m going to bed now, but not because you said so. Because I’m tired.”

Darcy doesn’t go up to her dormitory that night. She sits by the fire, keeping it going with the occasional flick of her wand. Her hands continue to shake, and her mind is plagued with images of her mother’s face, cold and frozen and lifeless, her green eyes staring up at Darcy, unblinking. But she knows that sleep means reliving it — sleep means  _ being there _ while it happens and not being able to do anything to stop it. So she forces herself to be awake, alone with her thoughts.

She thinks of Harry, of his fear of the dementors, passing out at the sound of their mother’s dying screams. She thinks of Dumbledore, and how he could have allowed those monstrous beasts to even be near the castle. She thinks of Mr. Weasley, the closest thing to a father she’ll ever have now. Often, Darcy thinks of Mr. Weasley as her true father, but the thought of even slightly betraying her father’s memory disgusts her and guilt eats away at her insides. Mr. Weasley, the father she’s always dreamed of having — loving, understanding, honest — all the things that her own father was, or maybe, all the things she hopes her father was. But when she thinks about her father, she can’t remember much of anything. The only things she knows about him are the things that other people have told her.

Of her mother, she remembers more. She remembers her mother’s impeccable beauty, the songs she’d sing to Darcy before bed, the stories she’d tell her. Darcy remembers her mother’s love — hugs and kisses and snuggles and laughter, hiding under blanket forts and baking cakes when Harry was sleeping on her father. 

But her parents are gone, not that she has to remind herself. Her family is Harry now, Emily and Carla, and Mr. Weasley. 

And then her thoughts settle on Professor Lupin, and things aren’t so clear. She isn’t sure how to speak to him, how to act around him, what to say or what not to say around him. Emily’s talk of boundaries with teachers makes Darcy uncomfortable — in another life, Lupin could have been a close family friend, someone who would have watched over her. They could have spoken freely as adults, as friends, without the awkwardness that comes with an unnatural and possibly inappropriate relationship. Yet, despite that, there’s a sense of comfort that Darcy finds in him that no one else offers, a feeling that puts her at incredible ease around him — Emily, fiercely loyal and overbearing at times, won’t hide her brutal and honest opinions; and Harry, thirteen-years-old and naive still, doesn’t need to know the kinds of things Darcy keeps tucked away in the very depths of her heart and mind.

When the house elves come to Gryffindor Tower to clean, they’re surprised to find Darcy still awake, her eyes heavy with sleep. She ignores them for the most part, and they do the same, not making any conversation, but one of them recognizes Darcy and pulls a blanket up over her lap. Darcy thanks the elf with a small smile and she hurries out of the common room quickly after her fellows. 

The blanket makes her sleepy, though, so she throws it off. The heat of the fire makes her tired, so she puts it out. Darcy sits there the rest of the night, staring into the black fireplace, begging the sun to rise.

And finally, it does. 

When Emily come downstairs into the common room and finds Darcy waiting for her, bag slung over her shoulder and bags under her eyes, Emily scrunches her nose. “Your bed hasn’t been slept in,” Emily comments as a few third year girls push past her towards the portrait hole.

“I fell asleep on the couch,” Darcy lies.

“Aren’t you at least going to brush your hair?” 

“Can we just go?”

The Great Hall gives Darcy a headache, almost as if she’s hungover. The light streaming in through the windows is far too bright for her liking, and the noise level is above where she’d like it. The scraping of cutlery on plates is magnified, echoing in Darcy’s head, and despite Darcy’s fondness for Hermione, every time her jaw moves to chew some food, a vein throbs in Darcy’s temple. 

Hermione talks to her kindly, as if nothing were wrong, but Darcy barely hears her. She catches a few words, something about a Potions essay that she could use help with, and Darcy nods politely, pushing her food around and not really eating anything. Halfway through a story about a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that Hermione is telling Darcy, Carla approaches and talks into her other ear, making her entire head throb. Darcy closes her eyes and blocks them both out, feeling Carla’s fingers working furiously at the knot in the back of her hair.

Glancing up at the teachers table, Darcy’s eyes automatically find Lupin in his usual spot. He smiles a tired, easy smile at her and returns to his breakfast, but seems to be eating just as much as Darcy.

When the owls arrive to bring mail, it sets Darcy over the edge. A newspaper smacks her in the face and Max tumbles into a cup of orange juice, spilling it onto the front of her robes. Emily, sensing her frustration and embarrassment, quickly clears the mess with a hasty spell and dries Darcy’s robes, but the damage has already been done. Darcy’s face is set, as if carved from stone, and no one speaks to her for the rest of breakfast.

Eager to get away from the crowd, she and Emily are some of the first students to exit the Great Hall. Emily talks her ear off the whole time, but Darcy doesn’t hear a single thing she says. She swears that she sleepwalks to the classroom because once she sits down at the back of the room, she can’t remember getting there. Darcy props her head against her hand, her eyes growing heavier by the minute, and when Professor Lupin begins to talk, his voice lulls her to sleep.

Thankfully, Professor Lupin wakes her before the nightmares start to come on. He gently shakes Darcy’s shoulder and her eyes snap open. Darcy’s heart is racing as she glances about the classroom, hoping that she hadn’t been talking in her sleep. The class is doing silent work, the only sound the scratching of quills and the occasional chuckle. Darcy rubs her eyes and looks up at Lupin, her eyes bloodshot and bleary. 

“I can’t let you sleep here, Darcy,” he whispers sympathetically. 

“I’m sorry, Professor,” she mumbles, combing her knotted hair with her fingers. “It won’t happen again.” But she yawns and as she takes her quill in her hand, her eyes begin to shut.

Lupin shakes her again and sighs. “Have Emily take you to Madam Pomfrey,” he says. “I’ll give your homework to Carla. She has my class after lunch. Now  _ go _ and get some sleep.”

“No,” Darcy snaps, keeping her voice down. “No, I’m fine. I just —”

Lupin wasn’t about to argue with her. With a single, firm look at Emily, she packs up her things and then grabs Darcy’s bag, leading her out of the classroom. Darcy stumbles to the hospital wing with Emily at her side and Madam Pomfrey immediately sends Emily back to class as the bell rings.

Madam Pomfrey closes the doors to the hospital wing quickly and rushes back over to Darcy, pushing her down onto a bed. The mattress isn’t very comfortable, not like her four poster, where she’d rather be, but even so… she’s so tired… she closes her eyes, letting sleep wash over her —

Darcy opens her eyes again, forcing herself to stay awake. She looks around the hospital wing and sees one first year covered in hair, sleeping. On his bedside table are a bunch of handmade cards, colored sloppily. There’s another girl, too, three beds down from the boy. Darcy recognizes her as a fifth year Slytherin that Gemma had introduced her to once. She’s sleeping, as well, and both of her hands are wrapped tight in bandages. A bouquet of pink and purple flowers sits on her bedside table.

“Nightmares again, Potter?” Madam Pomfrey asks sternly, walking past Darcy’s bed to her office. 

Darcy doesn’t answer, but can hear Madam Pomfrey digging through her potions and medicines for something. When the matron is standing in front of Darcy again, she nods slowly. Madam Pomfrey is already prepared, however, and holds out a bottle of purple potion, to which Darcy is no stranger.

She reaches out for it almost greedily, drinking the whole thing quickly, ignoring the bitter taste. Madam Pomfrey takes the empty bottle and pulls the blankets up over Darcy as her eyes close once more. 

Darcy doesn’t fight sleep this time. Sleep without dreams — without nightmares — is just what she needs.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually wrote the last half of this chapter at work today

Darcy sleeps most of the day. When she wakes, the sun is just beginning to set, coloring the sky with a mixture of reds and pinks and oranges. She lays awake in her cot for a while — while the potion gives her dreamless sleep, it leaves her feeling groggy for a few hours after waking. Darcy stares at the bedside table, where Carla’s placed a small bouquet of yellow flowers, a piece of parchment with something scribbled up near the top, and underneath the flowers are a copy of Emily’s Potions notes.

While her sleep had been something wonderful, she feels empty without dreams of any kind — good or bad. While the dreams terrify her, she misses and longs for the feelings of love that come with them. Her mother’s kisses, her whispered words, the arms that wrap themselves around her as she cries. But she knows that with love, comes pain — the pain of losing her mother in the matter of seconds, the physical pain that shoots up her legs, the pain of losing everything all at once… all but Harry.

It isn’t much later that the doors open seemingly by themselves. Madam Pomfrey comes bustling out of her office, looking panicked, only to find no visitors. She looks at Darcy, back at the doors, then goes to close them, warily making her way over to Darcy. Madam Pomfrey feels her forehead, checks her wrist for a pulse, grabs her chin and examines her eyes. 

“Hm… your pupils are a little dilated,” she tuts. “Are you feeling well? Did the potion work?”

“I’m fine, Madam Pomfrey,” Darcy rasps, staring up into the witch’s eyes. “I just needed sleep — I’m feeling fine, I promise.”

Madam Pomfrey hums again and nods, standing up straight and taking another quick glance around the infirmary, which is still empty. “Very well. Take your time in gathering your things and head straight back to your dormitory for some more rest. If anyone asks why you’re out so late, you send them directly to me, you hear?”

Darcy nods. When Madam Pomfrey goes back to her office, Darcy slips her shoes back on and gathers her things off the table, but a whisper in her ear catches her off guard and she drops her flowers on the ground, holding back a shriek. When she looks over her shoulder, Emily’s face — and only her face — is smiling at her. Darcy blinks, and Carla’s face appears beside Emily’s, cheek to cheek. 

“Hey, Darcy,” Emily whispers. “Check out what Harry let me use.”

“How’d you manage that?” Darcy hisses back. 

“I told him I wanted to come visit you,” she replies. “And I did. But let’s get out of here first.”

Emily and Carla cover themselves again with the Invisibility Cloak and Darcy leaves the hospital wing with them walking quietly behind her. Madam Pomfrey doesn’t even bother to see Darcy out, making it easier for Emily and Carla to slip through the door unnoticed — the bottom of Carla’s sneakers appear as the cloak flaps around them, but she doesn’t seem to notice. 

Once in the corridor, free from adult ears, Emily and Carla show their heads again, leaving the cloak wrapped around their torsos. “Sleep well?” Emily asks with a grin. “You missed an incredibly silent Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson in which Professor Lupin gazed at your empty seat for the entirety of it, and we had the most exciting Potions lesson, in which Snape did nothing but sneer at me and then at your empty seat.” She looks sideways at Darcy. “Did you get my notes? Because I’ll need those back.”

“He didn’t take any points, did he?” Darcy grimaces. “Knowing Snape, he’d be ecstatic for any excuse to doc points from Gryffindor.”

“Surprisingly, he didn’t take any,” Emily recalls. “Oh, wait — no, he did take five points after I spilled my ink all over his table, but he was standing over my shoulder with this… look — you have no idea how frightening that man can be —”

“We’ve been in Potions classes together since first year,” Darcy chuckles. “Whatever frightening memories you have of him, I have, as well.”

“Professor Lupin wrote the prompt for your essay on the parchment I left you,” Carla adds. “He says you have until next Monday to write it. He also wanted me to tell you that he won’t be in class tomorrow, so Emily should be able to answer any questions about the essay that you may have.”

Darcy stops in the middle of the corridor, turning slowly towards Carla’s head. “What do you mean he won’t be in class tomorrow? Is he ill?”

Carla stutters, unsure of how to answer. “I’m not sure, he didn’t give a reason. I mean — he looked a bit ill today, but I think that’s just how he looks, isn’t it?” she scoffs and puts an invisible hand on Darcy’s arm. “Look, I know I may have gotten a little ahead of myself the other day. You know how I get under all this stress and I was only looking out for you, but I think you’re right, Darcy. I think he’s being truthful and I don’t think he would hurt you — Emily set me straight, like she always does, and I’m sorry for scaring you, but I didn’t mean to frighten you in the least.” Carla smiles crookedly, and Darcy has a feeling that Carla isn’t being completely truthful.

“It’s all right,” Darcy mutters, smiling weakly at Carla. “It’s just… curious, is all. It’s probably nothing. And where are we going? Not back to Gryffindor Tower?” She had been following Emily and Carla’s floating heads, not really paying attention to their journey, but she knows they’ve passed the staircase that would lead them towards their common room, and Darcy becomes increasingly suspicious. “Why did you really need the cloak?”

“To visit you, of course,” Emily says sweetly. “My dearest and most darling friend. And also because… we’ve a bit of a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Darcy asks. “Emily, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather just go back to the common room… catch up on some homework, maybe start this essay…”

“No! No, no, no! Don’t be like that!” Emily whines. “Come on, we did all of this last minute and it would be such a shame if you didn’t show up!”

“Do you know that I had to pay good money for this alcohol to get smuggled in,” Carla sighs. “And my parents are not going to be happy when I write to them asking for more money. So if you don’t drink any of it, just remember what it cost me to get it here for you.”

“Are you guilt tripping me?” Darcy asks, incredulous. “Carla, who are you?”

“A very broke young woman,” Carla frowns. “If I didn’t have a free period first thing tomorrow morning, I wouldn’t have agreed to all of this, trust me.”

“We have Transfiguration first thing tomorrow,” Darcy reminds Emily. “And if you think that Professor McGonagall won’t smell alcohol on our breaths from three weeks ago, then you’re a fool. She’ll take one look at us and on Wednesday, I’ll have another Howler at breakfast.”

Emily laughs. “When did you get so dull, Darcy?”

Darcy considers it, looking at her friends’ wide, pleading eyes and pouty lips. “Fine,” she groans, running a hand through her hair and following them further still down the corridor. “Fine, but only for a few drinks and then I’m going to sleep.”

Two hours and six drinks later, Darcy sways on her feet, her stomach growling and her head pounding, her body begging her for rest. Dunking her head in the filled tub, Darcy wrings out her hair and pulls on her dry clothes. Emily, Carla, and Gemma sit laughing in the tub, cheering to something incoherent every few minutes before sipping their drinks and cheering again. 

Darcy makes her way back over to say goodbye and Gemma chuckles, flashing a grin at Darcy. “You be careful on those stairs, Darcy Potter,” she calls. “Moving staircases don’t take kindly to drunken students.”

“I’ll be fine,” she replies. Out of the goodness of her heart, Darcy winks at Emily, letting her know that she’ll be leaving the Invisibility Cloak for her friend. Understanding right away, Emily blows her friend a kiss.

Gemma offers Darcy some of her own perfume so she doesn’t smell like alcohol, and Darcy accepts graciously, immediately regretting it when Gemma sprays far too much all over her body. While the scent isn’t terrible, it’s incredibly overwhelming and Darcy has to hold her nose as she stumbles out the door of the bathroom, out into the darkened corridor. 

When Darcy does to go sleep that night, she’s pleased that the drinks have caused her to have dreams she can’t remember when she wakes. Emily is the one to wake her that morning, free of a hangover, already dressed and in the middle of brushing her teeth. 

“This is the third time I’ve brushed my teeth this morning,” she mutters to Darcy, mouth full of toothpaste. It dribbles down her chin, but Emily continues to scrub. “Can’t get the smell of that brandy out of my mouth. It was terrible, wasn’t it?”

“It was fine,” Darcy smiles, pulling off the blankets and remembering she hadn’t even changed out of her clothes from the previous night. All at once, the scent of Gemma’s perfume hits her again, but no one else seems to notice. It’s enough to make her stomach churn and she loses her appetite. Either it’s the perfume, or the hangover, but Darcy thinks it may be a little of both.

At breakfast, Max delivers Darcy a copy of the Daily Prophet that features a snippet about the supposed whereabouts of Sirius Black. Darcy scowls. “A couple of muggles say they saw Sirius Black moving north,” she says to her friends sitting around the table. “‘Sirius Black continues to elude us, but if he continues north, he will be greeted warmly by the dementors currently guarding Hogwarts, who will be willing to give him a kiss on sight.’ That Minister sure does have a way with words.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Hermione retorts. 

“He puts a lot of faith into these dementors,” Emily adds. “But I don’t buy it. There’s something off about them. I don’t trust them after what happened on the train.”

“If the dementors don’t catch him, he’ll lose everything,” Darcy sighs, putting the paper down. “He’s afraid.”

“If he was competent, he’d have put security officers and Aurors here, not dementors,” Emily hisses. “Or he would have at least called them back to Azkaban after the train incident.”

Transfiguration is a slow start to the day, and while Professor McGonagall doesn’t explicitly state that she smells alcohol on either of them or shows that she recognizes the telltale signs of waking up after a night of drinking, she does flash both Darcy and Emily more stern glares than normal. Even Gemma, who sits at the table in front of them, earns herself a lingering gaze or two when she looks over her shoulder to grin at Emily. After Darcy impresses McGonagall with a complicated spell, however, McGonagall leaves the two of them alone and replaces her glares with tight-lipped smiles. 

It seems Carla had the right about Professor Lupin, as well, as he doesn’t show up for class that day. Instead, Professor Sprout covers for him — the only teacher available at the time — and she allows them to quietly use the time to do their homework or talk amongst themselves. 

When Gemma asks Professor Sprout where Professor Lupin is, the Herbology professor answers with a smile and. “I was asked to cover, and I did without question,” she answers. “I didn’t care to know the gory details.” But Darcy wonders if he’s hiding in the hidden apartment, listening to his classes from behind the walls.

Starved, Darcy eats her fill at lunch and notices Professor Lupin’s vacant seat at the high table with all the other professors. She does see Hagrid looking at her though, and offers a smile, waving happily down at him. Hagrid gives her a forced smile, or something that may have been a smile, but he turns away quickly, frowning at his plate. Darcy frowns and slumps her shoulders, knowing that she’ll have to get down to Hagrid’s soon and join in on his misery. That, or risk her friendship with Hagrid, and the idea of isolating herself doesn’t sit well with her, especially with Sirius Black on the loose.

The rest of the day goes by quickly, as Darcy only has free periods. The autumn weather has begun to settle in, and the days become more blustery and chill, so Emily suggests they go to the library to study. Darcy takes her up on that and the two of them find a secluded corner in the dimly lit library, away from Madam Pince’s sharp ears.

“Plans for Christmas this year?” Emily whispers after she’s gotten out all of her books and blank parchment. Soon, the table is covered with their things, and the two of them are flipping through their textbooks, finding important passages and marking them for later. Emily’s pages are covered with notes, smudged ink, and drawings in the margins. She reads every single one before turning each page.

“I don’t know,” Darcy admits, holding her head in her hands. “Harry hasn’t mentioned anything about going to Ron’s, and I’ve thought of writing Mr. Weasley, but — I don’t know.”

“You could always come home with me,” Emily shrugs. “Though dad’s family is joining us for Christmas this year, and mum’s weird siblings are, as well. They’ve always wanted to meet you, but I don’t blame you if you wouldn’t want to meet them. They’re witches and wizards too. Mum told me to warn you about them if you decide to come.”

“I thought maybe I could stay here for Christmas,” Darcy says, twirling her quill with her fingers. “Wouldn’t be so bad, I bet. Harry will be here. And it’ll be quiet and I’ll be able to catch up on my sleep.”

“Are you sure?” Emily frowns. “I could stay with you.”

“No,” Darcy replies right away. “You should go home to your family. I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll spend some time with Hagrid.”

Emily accepts her answer, but at the mention of Hagrid, her eyebrows furrow. “Hagrid misses you,” she whispers. “He’s having a really hard time after the hippogriff incident.”

“I know,” Darcy sighs. “I’ve been meaning to see him, but I just — I can’t. Maybe after things have settled down.” She puts her quill down and rubs her face. “What do you think will happen to the hippogriff? Did he say?”

“Nothing’s official,” Emily answers. “But I think we all know what it may come to. If it were anyone else beside that Malfoy kid, Hagrid may have caught a break.”

Darcy chews the inside of her lip, leaning her chair back on two legs. 

“The hippogriff will die,” Emily continues bluntly. “You know that, Darcy.”

“I can’t really avoid him for much longer, can I?”

“Hagrid knows you’re going through a lot right now. You know he’ll do anything he can not to add to the list.”

Their friends come and go throughout the afternoon. Harry, Ron, and Hermione join them after their last classes of the day end, and Darcy educates them all on the proper way to brew Shrinking Solutions. Too polite to stop her, Harry lets Darcy finish her lesson before leaving the library with his friends. Only twenty minutes after the door closes after them, Gemma and Carla walk arm-in-arm into the library, seating themselves across from Darcy and Emily. 

“Binns gave me a detention today,” Gemma growls. “Can you believe that? Binns, who doesn’t even know my name after I’ve been in his class for  _ seven _ years gave me a detention today.”

“What for?” Darcy asks.

“I was sleeping,” Gemma answers casually. “But everyone sleeps in that class. I just happened to be the first person he saw when he looked up. If I’m lucky, he’ll forget all about it. So don’t bring it up.”

Darcy and Emily decide to skip dinner to finish their homework, still full from their big lunch. They’re only there for a little bit by themselves when Darcy yawns and closes her books, cleaning up her area.

Darcy’s eyes grow heavy quickly, and she stands, rolling up her essay and tucking all her belongings back into her bag. Emily bids her goodnight. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

As she leaves the library, Darcy takes a look outside the windows. The sun is going down in earnest now, and the sky is growing darker. The days at Hogwarts have been getting shorter and shorter, and already Darcy mourns for the long, summer days that could be spent by the lake or under the shade of a beech tree. She longs for the freedom summer grants her — endless walks around the grounds, beautiful gardens to hide in, trees to climb up. Winter, on the other hand, doesn’t bring such appealing things. Winter, to Darcy, means freezing cold corridors, bitter winds that burn the skin, and a cold hike to Herbology classes. Even now, the corridors seem to be getting colder.

As she passes the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, she jumps as she hears a door slam shut behind her. Darcy spins on her heel to find Professor Lupin leaving the classroom with a cloak wrapped around his shoulders. She catches a glimpse of him and recoils — he looks like death; his face has next to no color in it and his hair is a mess, as if he’s slept all day. His eyes are glazed over and she notices his fingers trembling as he holds onto his cloak tightly. 

“Professor Lupin,” she says kindly. “Are you all right?”

Expecting him to stop and chat for a moment, Darcy’s completely bewildered as he barrels past her, his shoulder brushing against her own. He doesn’t look back at her, nor does he apologize for bumping into her, he just keeps on going. She stands and watches him for a moment, watches him move quicker than she’s seem him move before, walking with a purpose. Lupin heads towards the Great Hall, back towards the entrance of Hogwarts, and she thinks hard for a moment. 

As strange as it is, Darcy doesn’t want to believe that it’s anything out of the ordinary. It could be he’s just ill — after all, the hospital wing is the same way down the corridor. But fear and doubt creep up behind her, feeding her frightening thoughts. She thinks of Carla, and the worries she’d voiced to Darcy not so long ago. Carla’s half-hearted warning that left Darcy scoffing. She wonders now where Lupin is really going, why he couldn’t stop to speak with her — was he leaving the castle? Leaving the grounds? Meeting with someone? Whatever he was planning, he couldn’t even be bothered to give her some sign of reassurance.

Darcy takes a single, long step after him, but someone grabs her shoulder with a crushing grip. “Going somewhere?”

She tenses and wriggles out of Snape’s grip, spinning around to face him. “No, sir,” she says. “Just, er — back to my common room.”

Snape purses his lips. “Go, then. And quickly, Potter. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

She turns into another empty corridor and makes her way up the first flight, looking out the window. The sky is a beautiful medley of colors, but her eyes aren’t drawn towards the sky. Darcy tilts her head, recognizing the shadow moving across the grounds. She watches Lupin run through the evening light, looking over his shoulders only once to make sure no one is watching. The direction he’s going, she’s not quite sure where he’ll end up, but her heart begins to race.

She can’t deny anymore that this isn’t suspicious. And maybe it’s not what she thinks, but Darcy can’t help but to imagine the worst case scenario, and the thought of the worst case scenario makes her think of Carla’s warning, of her own suspicion towards Lupin. 

_ Is it possible he’s meeting with Sirius Black?  _ Not likely, Darcy reassures herself, but what else could he be doing? She feels her wand in her back pocket and slides it out, looking over the banister of the stairs to check on Snape. Fortunately, he’s gone back towards the dungeons. Darcy quietly moves down the stairs once more and heads towards the front doors, desperately wishing she had the Invisibility Cloak.

When she reaches the front doors, Darcy takes one last look over her shoulder and sees no one. Surprised to find the doors open, she pulls hard and opens it just enough for her to slide through. When it shuts behind her, it’s louder than she had hoped, but she breaks into a run and follows Lupin’s trail.

With her long legs and graceful strides, she catches up to him in no time and runs to the side of him, hidden behind trees and bushes as the sun continues to set. The sky is a fiery red now, and in a few minutes, the sun will be hidden and the moon will be up, the sky a pitch black, littered with bright stars. 

The wind begins to pick up as the sun sets, chilling her to the bone. The branches of trees  — long and skinny and flexible  — cast shadows that look like fingers reaching out to grab her, to steal her in the night. The creaking of the trees mingle with the howling of the wind, the whispering of the leaves, the soft thud of her footsteps, as she chases after Lupin, sweat forming on her forehead. The sounds of the night cause goosebumps to rise on her arms and the hair on the back of her neck stands up. 

Darcy weaves in and out of the thin tree trunks, keeping her eyes on Lupin's back, watching him stumble towards the violent tree that gives her pause. For a split second, she almost screams his name, afraid that one of the tree's branches will come down on him, crushing him, killing him. After all, it had been that tree that had almost crushed and killed her last year, along with Harry and Ron and that damned Ford Anglia. But right as the heavy branches begin to sway, faster and faster and harder and harder, and right as Darcy opens her mouth to call him back, Professor Lupin waves his wand. Darcy watches as he takes control of a smaller branch and uses it it to prod something at the base of the tree. 

All of a sudden, the branches stop moving and the Whomping Willow is nothing more than an ordinary tree. Darcy expects Lupin to continue on his way past it, but instead he approaches the trunk and smoothly, as if he's done this a thousand times, he slips into a small hole near the spot he prodded with the branch, and in the blink of an eye, he's gone. Lupin doesn't make a sound, nor does he look over his shoulder to make sure he's alone. 

This makes Darcy hesitate. Not that she’s very familiar with the way the tree works, but she finds it odd that Lupin knows how to get near it. She waits, considering this, hidden behind the peeling tree trunk. She isn't sure what to think, but the sky is getting darker, and soon, Darcy knows the only light in the sky will be the moon. Darcy looks back at the castle, sees the lights on in Gryffindor Tower, and thinks of racing back inside and jumping in bed. Then she looks again at the Whomping Willow, docile and still. She tries to imagine what could possible be in that hole at the base of the tree  — is it possible that Professor Lupin was meeting Sirius Black down there? That would explain the general air of suspicion, the way he ignored her, shoved past her without one of his easy smiles. She remembers Carla's words of caution, the doubts that she had that now stick in the back of Darcy's mind.

But she's so close, and to come all this way, only to turn around be left wondering… 

Afraid she's going to change her own mind, Darcy leaps out from the shadows, towards the Whomping Willow. It seems to sense her, and as soon as she puts a single foot within range, the branches creak. Darcy pulls her wand out and mimics Professor Lupin, stepping just out of the tree's way and pointing her wand at a fallen branch. Just like Lupin, she forces the branch to prod at the base of the tree, but she isn't sure exactly where. She forces it against the tree several times, and on the fourth try, the branch hits the spot that makes the tree freeze.

Hesitant, due to her previous experience with the tree, she glances at the branches before sprinting to the trunk. The hole she finds easily, and being skinnier and smaller in stature than Lupin, she fits a little better. Darcy wriggles in feet first and almost screams as she begins to slide down and down and down. 

Finally, she makes it to the bottom and she lands hard on the earthen ground, her forehead bouncing off a root. Darcy stands, the ceiling a few inches taller than her. Her forehead throbs where the root broke skin, and when she touches it, her fingers come back slightly bloody. 

As her eyes adjust to the darkness, Darcy notes her surroundings. She's in a tunnel, and when she turns around, she sees that she's fallen at least ten feet. While a grown man, like Lupin, may have to duck or at least hunch over while walking through, the tunnel is wide enough for two people to walk side by side comfortably. 

"Lumos," Darcy whispers. The tip of her wand gives light to the tunnel, but she regrets it. With the tunnel lit up in bluish light, she feels uneasy, wary of the end of the tunnel, afraid of what she'll find  — or who she'll find. But she's come too far to turn around now, so with her heart pounding, she carries on, wand held out in front of her. Every part of her wants to turn around and go back to the castle, every fiber of her being is screaming in protest. Yet she continues.

As soon as she starts down the path, however, a mangled scream echoes throughout the tunnel and rings in her ears. Darcy's heart stops. "Professor Lupin," she breathes. Her legs carry her through the tunnel, and as the path begins to steepen, her calves ache, but still she doesn't stop.

Eventually, the path leads to what seems like a trapdoor. She pushes through it as the screams continue, turning into a low groaning  —  someone in an intense amount of pain. The sounds grow closer, and she realizes that there's only one voice, not two like she thought there would be. 

Pulling herself up through the trapdoor, the floors turn to wood, covered with a thin layer of dust except for the recent footprints that lead up a half-destroyed staircase. As she follows them, she takes in her surroundings, trying to figure out where the tunnel has led her, but the few windows are boarded up so she can't see her exact location. The ceiling is tall, and not being in the small tunnel immediately makes her feel relieved. Heart pumping, Darcy continues the climb, following the prints up the stairs, taking care to be as quiet as possible. The footprints then lead to a closed door at the end of the hallway, and as she puts her hand on the doorknob, she licks her lips, listening for a sign of what could be found inside. But for the moment, all sounds of pain have stopped, and there's a shuffling noise coming from inside, heavy footfalls and the creaking of the floorboards under their feet.

There's no preparing herself for what she finds inside. She half-expects to meet Sirius Black in the flesh, with a dead or dying Professor Lupin by his side. Or perhaps the strangled groans had come from Sirius Black, and when she opens the door, maybe it will be Professor Lupin who reigns triumphant, having defeated the escapee. However, what she doesn't expect, is to find a fully grown werewolf inside, panting heavily, with Professor Lupin's clothes torn and shredded on the ground around it.

At first, the werewolf doesn't notice her, or perhaps it doesn't care that's she's there. Darcy is paralyzed with fear, knowing full well she can't outrun a werewolf. Her breath catches in her throat and the room around her begins to swim. As she takes a slow step backwards, back into the hallway, the werewolf turns and sees her, and before she can think of what to do next, it lunges. 

Darcy side steps, but the werewolf barrels into her clumsily with such force that it knocks the wind out of her. Darcy tumbles backwards into the hallway, crashing into a wall, and the werewolf growls, raising a clawed hand and bringing it down hard before she has the time to move away. Its claws tear through her sweater, leaving deep gashes on her left shoulder, and the strips of fabric fall to the floor at her feet. Darcy screams  — for fear and pain  — and tries to move away, but she's unsteady on her feet and the werewolf's jaw opens wide, snapping once before it gets ready to lunge again. She tries to find her wand, which doesn’t seem to be in her hand any longer. It's nowhere to be seen and her shoulder throbs with each passing moment, clouding her thoughts and making it hard to concentrate.

Darcy grips her shoulder with her hand, trying to stop the bleeding, but the blood oozes down her shoulder, covering her hand until it's soaked and stained red. She falls to the ground, unable to stand any longer, and holds out her other hand towards the werewolf as it makes a move towards her. Darcy closes her eyes, but the bite never comes. She hears a loud crash and a whimper, and when she opens her eyes, the werewolf is back in the room where she found it, growling from the floor. 

A strong hand grabs the back of Darcy's sweater and pulls her to her feet, holding her steady for the moment. "What were you  _ thinking _ ?"

Unbelieving, Darcy looks over her bleeding shoulder, trying to avoid looking at the ruin that was her skin. Snape isn't looking at her, but at the werewolf. He flicks his wand again, sending a shower of blue light towards the creature, and the werewolf curls in the corner and watches them, whimpering all the while. Snape closes the door with his foot and drags Darcy quickly back towards the stairs, but she has a hard time keeping up with his long strides. 

And then, Darcy starts to cry. Fat tears roll down her cheeks as her shoulder bleeds out. Snape tries to help her down the stairs, but Darcy's lost control of her limbs. Snape grabs Darcy firmly under the arms and steadies her, nudging her near the first step. A wave of nausea washes over her and she falls and tumbles down the staircase, sobbing all the while, trying to explain herself. Snape rushes down to the bottom, where Darcy lays limp, unable to get up. Her face is a bit more bloodied and a bruise has already begun to form under her left eye. However, she continues to grasp her shoulder, her voice hoarse from crying.

Snape helps get her through the trapdoor, dropping her down. Darcy lands on her knees and cries out. When she tries to stand again to move through the tunnel, her legs collapse underneath her. She falls face first into the dirt, swallowing too much of it for her liking. Snape reaches back down for her, pulling her up by her left arm, but it's no use  — she can't stand and everything is fading before her... the tunnel is growing smaller... darkness is swallowing her whole... she closes her eyes as she falls again, but this time, Snape is ready for it and he catches her.

"I can't... please..." is all she can manage.

Snape purses his lips and looks at her with a blank expression for half a second before lifting her with ease. “You stupid  —” Snape continues to talk, hurling insults at her, but she doesn’t hear a word he says. As soon as Darcy's feet leave the ground, she closes her eyes, and the world goes dark.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting on my self indulgent story !!

When the cool night air hits her face, Darcy’s eyes open a crack. She can hear her heart pumping loudly in her ears, a steady  _ thump-thump-thump _ that drowns out the howling wind. Close to her other ear, she can hear Snape panting as he climbs the hill, getting closer to Hogwarts with each long stride. The pain in her shoulder grows and she tries to look, but all she can see is red, blood flowing from the three deep wounds. She closes her eyes again, her shoulder throbbing and burning like fire.

When she wakes next, she’s in a dark room, a few lit candles around her, but nothing else. She’s sitting in a chair, slumped over the arm of it, and she forces herself to sit up. Her right hand automatically goes to her shoulder, and warm blood continues to ooze through her fingers. Darcy grimaces, tears falling freely from her eyes, and she looks to her right, catching a glimpse of her reflection in a cracked mirror. 

She hadn’t realized her nose was bleeding. Blood has dried below her nostril, just above her upper lip. Her eyes are red and puffy, and her face is ghostly white, drenched with sweat. Her dark auburn hair sticks to her cheeks and forehead, matted with blood from the cuts on her forehead and cheek. Her face still aches from her tumble down the staircase, from landing on her face in the tunnel. Her head lolls, and she can’t find the strength to keep it still, but when Snape appears suddenly in front of her with a rag soaked with potion, she stiffens, suddenly very afraid. 

“What is that?” she croaks. “What — what are you —”

“This is going to hurt.” He moves to place the rag on her shoulder, but Darcy squirms, moving with a quickness that surprises her. Darcy smacks his hand away and sees anger flash in his cold, dark eyes. “Stay still, girl.”

“No! Not you —”

“Then bleed out,” he sneers. “Just don’t do it on my classroom floor.”

Snape moves to use the rag on her shoulder again, but she grabs his wrist. “Don’t,” she whispers. 

Snape jerks his wrist out of her grip, his lip curls, and he looks her in the eyes, his face inches from her own. Darcy doesn’t falter and stares back at him, her face set. He grinds his jaw, inhales deeply, and when he speaks, his voice rings in her ears. “You ungrateful, arrogant, fool girl,” he hisses. “I just saved you from a fate worse than death — if you were lucky, he would have killed you — and yet you sit here and refuse my help and speak to me with the boldness of your lousy, good for nothing father —”

“I didn’t ask you to save me, sir,” she interrupts, her voice low. “I didn’t ask you to follow me out there.”

“But I did,” he says, holding up the rag again, “and you’re alive because of it.”

He’s right, and she knows it, and Snape knows it. A long moment passes as they continue to stare at each other, and then Darcy shifts and closes her eyes. “Go on,” she replies. “Do it.”

Snape doesn’t hesitate. He presses the rag to her shoulder and the pain intensifies tenfold. She screams out loud and grits her teeth, sobbing and kicking her legs. Darcy grabs Snape’s arm, trying to pry it off her shoulder, but she’s too weak and all she can do is dig her fingernails into Snape’s arm as he applies pressure to her shoulder. The potion he’s applied to the rag runs down her arm, and Darcy looks at her shoulder to see her skin knitting back together, as if being sewn. Her flesh feels as if it’s being stretched, stretched beyond its limits, at its breaking point, about to be pulled off her shoulder. She opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out, and all she can do is squeeze onto Snape’s arm harder, and he flinches as her nails break his skin. Her tears run into her mouth, drip from her chin.

As the wounds seal, the pain becomes less intense, and when Snape pulls the rag off her shoulder, Darcy slumps in the chair, breathless and exhausted. She manages to look at her shoulder again, caked with dried blood and wet with some fresh blood, as well. Across her skin are three scars — an angry red color, raised and ugly, a permanent reminder of tonight. 

Snape tosses the rag behind him and it lands with a  _ squish _ on his desk. Darcy lightly fingers her scars, hands trembling. Just thinking about the werewolf rearing, lunging at her, makes her shoulder twinge. Then she remembers — it wasn’t  _ just _ a werewolf, it was Lupin. Lupin did this to her. Lupin scarred her for life, and she can’t help but remember the words he’d spoken to her:  _ No harm will come to either of you. That I can promise. _ And what was it that she had said to him? She had called it an empty promise. Because all she’s ever known are empty promises — she doesn’t know why she’d expected Lupin to deliver on that promise. All she knows is that she  _ wanted _ it to be true. She had  _ wanted _ him to be telling her the truth. 

She looks up at Snape, trying to piece everything together. “It was Wolfsbane, wasn’t it?” she asks quietly. “The potion that I saw you carrying — the potion that I…”

“Yes,” he answers. “Wolfsbane.”

“It’s my fault, then. It’s my fault he turned into a werewolf — oh, I should have seen it… I should have recognized the signs, should have noticed the full moon, but I was so certain that he —” Darcy stops, sighing heavily. “It’s all my fault.”

“Why did you follow him?” Although his tone is slightly gentler, Darcy still hears the harshness behind his words. “What could have possibly been going through your head when you decided to leave the school to pursue him into the Whomping Willow?”

Darcy shrugs. “My friend made me suspicious and I thought that… I don’t know.” She looks him in the eyes again and he looks back. She shivers, feeling as if he’s staring into her soul. Darcy quickly averts his gaze, glancing at her reflection in the mirror again. “Professor, what happens now?” Her color has returned, but she still looks unwell.

“Madam Pomfrey will clean you up,” he says curtly. “Forgive me if I don’t wipe your face myself.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Dumbledore will be made aware of the situation, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid, sir.” But it’s a lie. 

“Go,” he replies, turning his back to her. “Go to the hospital wing right away, and tell Madam Pomfrey exactly what happened.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, standing. Darcy wobbles on her feet a moment, then steadies herself and walks to the door, opening it and hesitating. Darcy looks over her shoulder at Snape, who’s cleaning off his hands in a stone basin. “Professor — thank you.”

* * *

Darcy, trusting Madam Pomfrey with her life, tells her the entire story of the night. She explains how she’d followed Lupin, seen him as a werewolf, how she’d been attacked and Professor Snape came to save her. The entire while, Madam Pomfrey stares at her in disbelief, as if it’s all a big lie, some made up story. But Darcy has the scars on her shoulder to prove it, and the fear in her eyes and her trembling hands and quivering lip is enough to convince Madam Pomfrey.

Madam Pomfrey reacts just the way Darcy expects her to. She fusses and panics, the worry written across her face. Because of her panic, Madam Pomfrey’s touch is not as gentle as usual, and Darcy hisses when one of her fingers dig into her scars too harshly. She doesn’t speak a word to Darcy — loud enough for her to hear, anyway. She mutters under her breath, and sometimes her lips move but no sound comes out. Forcing Darcy onto a cot, Madam Pomfrey pulls the curtains around them shut despite them being the only people in the infirmary, then retreats to her office quietly, gathering some things. 

Darcy waits patiently, her eyes flicking towards the shadow of the great doors of the hospital wing. She knows that any moment, Dumbledore will come through those doors, will storm up to her bed and chastise her, interrogate her, look at her with that disappointing gaze he saves for occasions such as these, and quite possibly expel her.

_ I shouldn’t be the one getting expelled _ , she thinks all of a sudden.  _ Professor Lupin did this to me. And Professor Dumbledore allowed him at school, knowing what he is. He should have known this was going to happen eventually. _

But then, another part of her fights back.  _ I was the one that caused the Wolfsbane Potion to spill. It’s my fault that Professor Lupin didn’t get his dose. _ She scrunches her nose.  _ I was the one that followed him. If I hadn’t followed him, he wouldn’t have hurt anyone _ .  _ If I had just done what I was supposed to do, he would have gotten his potion and nothing would have happened at all. _

Her thoughts are interrupted by Madam Pomfrey ripping back the curtains again, eyes wide as saucers. She wrings out a clean rag and when she touches it to Darcy’s skin, Darcy flinches, but it’s only water. The matron wipes the blood off her skin, cleaning her shoulder, wiping her face with warm water, bandaging the small cuts on her cheeks and forehead. Finally, she places damp gauze on her shoulder, soaked in a potion that stings. With skill, Madam Pomfrey wraps her shoulder tightly with a thick bandage, putting as much pressure on the wound as possible.

“It’ll keep the swelling down,” she explains in a whisper. “And if we’re lucky, it’ll reduce the size of your scars. But you know they won’t ever completely go away?”

“I know.”

“You’re sure he didn’t bite you? You’ve looked everywhere to make sure?”

“I’m sure,” Darcy says with a slight nod. “He only scratched me.”

Madam Pomfrey sighs with relief, patting Darcy’s cheek. Though she smiles, it isn’t a very reassuring smile. “You’ve always been a frequent visitor, Miss Potter,” she utters. “But I find that I’d rather treat you for hangovers and nightmares than this.”

Darcy can’t help but chuckle. “Me too. I promise, from now on, only hangovers and nightmares.”

The matron looks exasperated, but happy with Darcy’s reply nonetheless. 

It isn’t long until the doors open and Darcy’s heart sinks. Professor Dumbledore doesn’t storm in like Darcy had thought he would, but he walks with a determination and purpose. Behind him, Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall follow him; McGonagall’s lips are pursed and her eyebrows are furrowed with worry. Madam Pomfrey stands at their entrance and opens the curtains around them, leaving Darcy with her teachers. 

Dumbledore sits at the foot of Darcy’s bed, eyes flicking to the bandages on her shoulder. His eyes, that bright blue of his, find her own green ones, and for a long time he stares at her until Darcy feels vulnerable and violated, as if he’s just penetrated the secrets of her very heart. She can’t stand it any longer and looks away, her face red, and fighting tears.

“You look better than I’d expected for someone who has just come face to face with a werewolf,” Dumbledore finally says. “I’m thankful to hear that you suffered no bites.”

Darcy nods solemnly. 

“If you would,” Dumbledore continues, turning to McGonagall and Snape, “wait outside for a moment, while I speak to Darcy alone.”

Snape and McGonagall exchange glances, then slowly back out. As the doors close, Darcy has the impression that they’re both listening closely on the other side of the doors.

“I must impress upon you the severity of your actions tonight, Darcy,” Dumbledore says, too seriously for her liking. Darcy can’t bear to meet his eyes. “It is essential that Professor Lupin takes his dose of potion every night in the week preceding the full moon. This denies him the opportunity to attack.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Should word of this travel around Hogwarts, or even beyond our walls — to the Ministry —” Dumbledore hesitates, frowning at Darcy. He doesn’t speak, and when Darcy finally looks up into his eyes again, he smiles a small smile. “Do you know how the wizarding world sees werewolves, Darcy?”

“Yes, sir,” she repeats. “I do. But it’s all my fault. I was the one who decided to follow him. I was the one who spilled his dose of Wolfsbane. Ask Professor Snape, it was me — I was… curious, is all.”

“What did you hope to find?” he asks. “What did you expect to see?”

While Darcy has never been extremely close with Dumbledore, she thinks him more understanding that Professor Snape. Hesitantly, Darcy gives him the truth. She tells Dumbledore of her and Lupin’s weekly meetings, of Carla’s ominous warning, and of the doubts that her friend had planted in her brain. “I thought that I might find Sirius Black,” she finishes. “I thought that maybe he was sneaking out to meet with him, but… I was wrong.”

Dumbledore smiles at that. “Taking the blame for this incident is quite admirable. Surely you only want to protect Professor Lupin?”

The question catches her off guard. Why is she taking the blame in the first place? Of course she had followed him out to the Whomping Willow, but Dumbledore had allowed a werewolf at Hogwarts, packed in a castle with hundreds of students. He and the other teachers had been made aware, but kept quiet about it. Professor Lupin had  _ attacked _ her, could have possibly bitten her if Professor Snape hadn’t shown up in time, or worse — killed her. And even though the rational thing to do would be to blame him, to beg Dumbledore to get rid of him, Darcy can’t bring herself to ask the headmaster to relieve him. 

Dumbledore takes advantage of her silence to keep talking. “This cannot happen again. If it does, not only will there be severe consequences for you to face, but I will have no choice but to let Professor Lupin go. And I’m sure that would be a great disappointment to all the students who are enjoying his lessons. And to the students who have found him to be a tremendous friend.” 

“You aren’t — you aren’t going to fire him, sir?”

“Did you want me to?” Dumbledore asks, tilting his head. “If I am to be a fair and just headmaster of this school, I must respect your wishes after what you’ve been through tonight. I will not keep a teacher at Hogwarts if any student of mine feels he is a danger to others.”

“But he  _ is _ a danger to others, sir,” Darcy replies quietly. “He’s a werewolf, he — he —”

“Yes?”

She thinks of Lupin, of the kindness he’s shown towards her, his usual gentle nature. She thinks of Lupin as a boy her age, friends with her mother and father, beloved by them.  _ My father would hate me. My mother would hate me. They would never let him down _ . Darcy looks down to her lap, accepting the truth of it. “He would never hurt me if he could help it,” she says. “I know that. I don’t wish for him to be fired, but… aren’t you afraid of him, Professor? Afraid of what he could do?”

“You have every right to be afraid,” he answers. “Don’t think that I am forgetting what has happened. It makes me ill to think what could have happened had Professor Snape not come to you in time. But Professor Lupin is just a man, and he never asked to be what he is.” 

Darcy remains silent. 

“I have already spoken to Professor Snape. From now on, he will brew Professor Lupin an endless supply of Wolfsbane, available to him at anytime. If a goblet were to be spilled, he now will have a backup. If the backup goblet were to be spilled, there will be yet another. I will make sure this will not happen again, Darcy. I have no wish to relieve Professor Lupin just yet, as it was so difficult to convince him to come in the first place.”

“Why?” she asks, but she thinks she knows the answer already.

“He was afraid of something like this happening,” Dumbledore says, lowering his voice and becoming much more solemn again. “I have no doubt that when Professor Lupin wakes in the morning and hears of what’s happened, he will begin packing immediately.”

Darcy considers this. She chews on her lip, her shoulder starting to throb again underneath all the bandages. “I’d speak with him, sir,” she says, unsure if that’s really what she wants. “When he’s able, I’d like to see him.”

“I’ll send for him at first light,” Dumbledore nods. “Once he finds his way back into his office, I’ll make sure he comes straight here.”

She swallows hard, wetting her cracked lips. “Will I be expelled?”

“No,” Dumbledore says more gently. “But that does not mean that all is forgiven. Neither you nor Professor Lupin will be free of some kind of punishment. But Professor McGonagall is the one who will determine yours.”

“What will you do to him?”

Dumbledore doesn’t answer right away. “That’s between Professor Lupin and myself. If he wishes to share it with you, then I will not object, but that decision is up to him.”

“Okay.”

“There is one more matter I’d like to discuss with you, and then I’ll let you rest,” Dumbledore adds. “If you insist that Professor Lupin stay with us at Hogwarts, news of this may not get out. I would like you to tell your friends a different story, if you would.”

“You want me to lie about what happened?” 

Dumbledore studies her for a few moments. “Yes, we must,” he replies.

“One look at my shoulder and they’ll know that this was no simple accident, sir. What could we possibly tell them?”

“Of course. Madam Pomfrey can keep your shoulder bandaged until all is forgotten. I will let your friends know that you are here and they can visit you, but should they ask questions, you must make certain to not reveal the truth.”

She hesitates. “Okay.”

Professor Dumbledore stands at that, bids her goodnight, and exits the room. When Professor McGonagall comes in, Darcy notices that her hands are clenched into fists and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other constantly. Darcy’s punishment is a handful of detentions to be served in her office, as well as fifty points from Gryffindor. Not wanting to keep Darcy up too late, McGonagall retreats quickly, promising that they’ll speak in a few days once things have settled. 

Once Madam Pomfrey attends to her shoulder and face one last time for the night, the candles around the infirmary are blown out and Darcy sighs heavily, forgetting that it’s so late in the night. She shuts her eyes, but sleep does not come easy to her. Her shoulder hurts still, and the cut on her forehead stings. Her entire body aches after being pounced on, slammed into a wall, and her head is pounding. 

All she can see when she closes her eyes is the shape of the werewolf’s face only inches from her own. The long, pointed teeth that were bared, the long, pointed claws that had come down on her. The feel of its hot breath on her face. Then its face transforms into Lupin’s, ruggedly handsome and always tired and exasperated. She sees him smile, his teeth bared, but they’re not long and pointed, and his smile is kind, making his eyes crinkle. And his fingers are thin and calloused, gentle and reassuring. 

The thought of it makes it easier for Darcy to slip into a deep, dreamless sleep, one devoid of dying mothers and faceless men. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's late. please forgive me if there are any errors (i'm sure there are)

“Two at a time! Two at a time! Please! She needs rest!”

Darcy watches Madam Pomfrey struggle with her friends, who try to push their way through the doors to the infirmary. Darcy wants nothing more than to have all of her friends crowd her bed, laughing and talking as if nothing is amiss. She wants her friends to fuss over her, feed her ego and make her feel better, keep her shoulder from throbbing. Darcy sits up a little straighter and smiles as Harry tries to push past the matron, but Madam Pomfrey is stronger than she looks and keep them all at bay.

She hadn’t slept for very long until Madam Pomfrey had woken her to change her bandages. She woke her two hours after that, too. Madam Pomfrey had attended to all of her needs — she fetched some food and drink from the kitchens in the dead of night when she heard Darcy’s stomach rumble faintly; she got Darcy a new shirt to replace the torn one — a sleeveless shirt that made it easier for the bandages to be changed; she covered Darcy with spare blankets when Darcy had shivered. It was as if Darcy were a queen, and Madam Pomfrey was simply her servant, but a servant who looked at their queen with pity and sadness. 

Madam Pomfrey had meant to change her bandages again when the doors suddenly opened, though now Darcy realizes her friends have quieted, so she assumes Madam Pomfrey has the situation under control. Exasperated, the matron comes back with Carla and Gemma. Gemma smiles brightly at Darcy, sitting at the foot of Darcy’s bed, but Carla looks worried and disturbed as her eyes find the large bandages wrapped around her shoulder.

“What happened to you?” Carla asks, taking Darcy’s hand in her own and squeezing it gently. 

Madam Pomfrey glances at Darcy as she hurries off to her office, leaving the girls alone to talk. Darcy waits until she hears the office door shut before she replies. “I went flying last night,” she explains, her heart racing. She’d practiced the lie in her head the entire morning, and practiced it with Madam Pomfrey, as well. But she knows Gemma and Carla are smart girls, and she’s nervous to try the lie with them. “And, well — you know I don’t fly well. Flew right into the Whomping Willow.”

“Well that was stupid,” Gemma chuckles, too accepting of Darcy’s lie for her liking. “How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“Sore,” Darcy admits, shrugging slightly. “But otherwise all right. You know how Madam Pomfrey works her magic.”

“We had no idea what was going on,” Carla tells her, sharing a worried look with Gemma. “Emily was pounding on our common room door screaming for someone to let her in. They all made  _ me _ go open the door since Emily is  _ my _ friend, and she and Gemma just pulled me down here. She said that Dumbledore said —”

“Dumbledore told Harry, and Harry told Emily, naturally,” Gemma interrupts, sparing Darcy the details and winking at her. “They’re outside, scheming.”

Madam Pomfrey doesn’t let her friends linger for long, and after only five minutes, decides that it’s time to switch off. She escorts Carla and Gemma out, despite their protests, and when the door opens again, Darcy’s surprised. Darcy can’t help but to grin as Ron and Hermione come running up to her bedside, kneeling. Hermione’s brought flowers, small blue ones that look slightly wilted. Ron hasn’t brought her anything, but promises that he’ll give her a chocolate frog of his when she comes back to the Gryffindor Common Room.

“So what happened?” Hermione finally asks, placing the flowers on the bedside table. “Dumbledore either didn’t give Harry any details, or he didn’t want to tell us.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Darcy answers, reciting the lie she had worked so hard to remember. “I went flying last night — terrible mistake — and ended up flying into the Whomping Willow.”

Ron’s eyes grow wide and he smirks. “I remember that tree,” he announces, looking Darcy over. They smile at each other fondly, briefly remembering their stint with the tree the previous year. Darcy had come away from that incident unscathed, but Ron suffered after the tree had broken his wand and Mr. Weasley’s car had taken the brunt of the hard and heavy blows. “What did you do, Darcy? Stand there and let it attack you?”

“Ron!” Hermione frowns. “She should be thankful she walked away from it alive. The Whomping Willow is not a merciful tree. You could have been seriously hurt. You shouldn’t have been flying around it in the first place, nor should you have been flying at night.” She purses her lips, leaning in closer to Darcy and lowering her voice. “You know you’re not a very strong flier.”

Darcy blushes as Ron tilts his head back and laughs. “That’s why I was practicing,” she shoots back. “Have you come here to mock me or to fawn over my injuries and feign sympathy?”

“Sympathy isn’t a word in Hermione’s vocabulary,” Ron mutters, and Hermione looks daggers at him. “Anyway, listen — if I bring you my Defense Against the Dark Arts essay, can you give it a look?”

“Ron, how can you talk of me not having sympathy? Darcy’s been seriously injured and you’re more concerned about her correcting your homework.”

“You said you weren’t going to look over it, so I’ve decided to take my business elsewhere.”

“Darcy doesn’t want to correct your essays,” she hisses, looking at Darcy and raising her eyebrows, expecting Darcy to agree with her. “It’s a lot of correcting and a lot of work.”

Darcy smiles as Ron and Hermione bicker about homework and procrastination and then Scabbers and Crookshanks, and when Madam Pomfrey grows weary of their snapping, she leads them out with a firm hand on one of each of their shoulders. When the door opens yet again, Madam Pomfrey does not lead anyone inside. She’s left in the wake of Emily and Harry. Emily races to Darcy, grabbing her hand and stroking her hair. Harry sits cross-legged at her feet.

“What’s happened, Darcy?” Emily asks, dropping all pretense. “Dumbledore told Harry that you were injured and then he told me — of course — and I’ve been so worried about you — you never came to bed last night and I assumed you were just out with Carla or with Gemma — I convinced myself that you were all right, when I should have known better! Oh, Darcy, I should have realized you were in trouble —”

“It’s nothing,” Darcy replies, giving her friend’s hand a gentle squeeze. She looks at her brother, hair tousled and green eyes staring at her shoulder. “I was out flying last night —”

“Oh, Darcy, you know you’re terrible at flying!” Emily sighs. 

“Thank you,” Darcy snaps, but Emily just shrugs. “I crashed into the Whomping Willow.”

“You must have the worst luck in the world,” Harry teases, looking visibly relieved. “We assumed the worst. I thought I was going to come in here and look on your dead body from the way Dumbledore looked.”

“Was he concerned?” Darcy asks.

“Not really,” Harry shrugs, thinking hard. “I mean, of course he was concerned, but he just seemed so serious. I thought Sirius Black had gotten you.”

At the sound of his name, Darcy shudders. She feels foolish, but Emily and Harry are much too polite to pretend to have noticed. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone,” she laughs nervously, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and warm. “Madam Pomfrey says I’ll be able to leave today. The bleeding has stopped, but she wants to change my bandages a few more times before I leave. You know how she is.”

“Next time you want to go flying, just ask me,” Harry says. “I’ll fly with you. Whose broom were you using?”

“Just some old one I found in the shed.”

“We could get you a better one if you’re serious about flying.”

“I think my flying days are over,” Darcy answers, laughing. “But I appreciate it. What time is it anyway?”

“Six,” Emily says, checking her watch. 

“It was still dark when Dumbledore came to the common room,” Harry adds. “Which was strange.”

“He probably just didn’t want you caught off guard,” Darcy says. “I’m glad you guys came.” 

Emily and Harry look at each other before looking back to Darcy. Darcy frowns, deeply misliking the look they’ve shared. “We’re worried about you, Darcy,” Emily says, patting her friend’s cheek. Darcy pulls her face away from Emily’s soft hand, not in the mood for one of her motherly lectures. “You’ve been unlike yourself lately. What is it?”

“Nothing,” Darcy scoffs. “What are you talking about?”

“For one, you went flying last night,” Harry adds. Darcy has the feeling that Gemma was right — Emily and Harry were scheming together outside the hospital wing. “You never go flying, and you’ve never enjoyed it. What were you up to?”

“I just needed some fresh air, is all,” Darcy sneers. “Forgive me for wanting to escape your clutches for one night.”

“Is it the dementors?” Emily presses. “I understand that you don’t like them, but they aren’t going anywhere. Or is it Sirius Black? I know what you’re afraid of, but Harry is safe here.”

Darcy and Harry look at each other. “You can’t believe that, truly,” Darcy whispers. 

“I do,” Harry says. “This is the safest place for us, Darcy. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“I always worry about you.”

The door opens again and all three of them look to see who it is. Even Madam Pomfrey pokes her head out of her office. Darcy’s heart sinks and she forgets to breathe for a moment as Lupin limps into the infirmary, heading towards Darcy. Emily and Harry look at Darcy; Darcy nods, and Emily gathers Harry off the bed.

“Come on, Harry,” she whispers, getting to her feet. 

Harry follows suit, kissing Darcy’s head and following Emily to the doors. They both acknowledge Lupin with a small smile and a nod, but Lupin looks at them bewildered. Darcy’s brother and Emily leave them, and Lupin draws closer, opening his mouth to speak, but Madam Pomfrey rushes him.

“No.” She puts a hand on his chest and he takes a few steps backwards, stammering. “No, no, no, no, no. Darcy is my patient and she needs rest — she’s had enough visitors for one day, so you can go right back to your office and you can see her during class —”

“Poppy —”

The matron prods his chest again with her index finger. “Out!”

“Madam Pomfrey, it’s all right,” Darcy says, clearing her throat. She wrings her hands, cracking her knuckles, fidgeting in her bed. “I’m not tired anyway.”

Madam Pomfrey looks at Darcy over her shoulder, considering her. Her arm falls to her side and she walks back over to Darcy, sighing. Madam Pomfrey takes one of Darcy’s hands in her own and smiles weakly. “I’ll be in my office,” she mutters. “If you should need anything, please shout for me.”

Darcy nods, and when Madam Pomfrey shuts herself in her office, Lupin kneels at Darcy’s side. She frowns, noticing the grimace on his face, and Darcy draws her legs up. “You can sit, if you like,” she offers.

Lupin hesitates, then takes her up on the offer. He seats himself on the end of the bed, where Harry had been only moments ago. Darcy looks at his face; he won’t look her in the eyes, but instead is looking off to the side. His shoulders are slumped, his face is white as a ghost, and his hair is disheveled, standing up in places where he’s run his hands through it. The buttons on his shirt aren’t buttoned correctly, as if he did them in the dark.  

“Don’t mind Madam Pomfrey,” Darcy says quietly, giving him a small smile, but he still won’t meet her gaze. “She’s been taking care of me for seven years. She just worries about me.”

“She has every right to be worried about you,” Lupin sighs, rubbing his palms on his pants. “I don’t even know what to say, Darcy. Sorry isn’t going to be enough. It will never be enough to make up for what I’ve done.”

She clenches her jaw. “You could look at me, for a start,” she replies. 

Slowly, Lupin raises his eyes, but his gaze is so pitiful that Darcy almost wishes he’d look away again. His eyes flick to her shoulder, wrapped in bandages, and she can see his face lose what tiny bit of color was left. He closes his eyes, looking nauseous. 

“I’m all right,” Darcy tries again. “Professor Snape stopped the bleeding and sealed the cuts as soon as I got back to the castle, and Madam Pomfrey has been soaking gauze in a potion that’ll keep the swelling down. She thinks it’ll shrink the size of the scars. I’m due for a change soon. Professor McGonagall has also given me a few detentions for sneaking out.”

Lupin rubs his face, sighing deeply. He glances at the potion and fresh gauze and bandages on the table. Watching Darcy closely, he moves a little closer, edging around the bed to see her shoulder better. Darcy tenses, keeping her eyes on his face. Lupin swallows loudly, reaching out for her shoulder. Darcy flinches and he stops, his fingers still outstretched. He looks her in the eyes again, quiet for a minute.

“You’re afraid of me.” He lowers his hand, defeated. 

“No,” she says, unsure if it’s the truth or not. “You just — you frightened me last night. I know you won’t hurt me now.”

Lupin doesn’t look like he believes her. “May I?” he asks, nodding at her shoulder.

Reluctantly, Darcy nods, not wanting to be impolite. Lupin seems to sense her hesitancy and frowns again. With the gentlest touch that Darcy’s ever felt, Lupin fingers the edges of her bandage, finding the starting point and slowly unraveling it, his face set as if carved from stone. He looks towards Madam Pomfrey’s office door before continuing. Darcy doesn’t doubt that Madam Pomfrey would throw a fit if she came upon Lupin doing her job. Finally, he reaches the layer of gauze covering her scars and Lupin sets down the old bandage on the table beside him, using two hands to peel the gauze off her shoulder. His hands are trembling.

Lupin barely lifts the gauze, takes a quick look underneath, and covers her shoulders again, closing his eyes. He takes a moment to compose himself, sighing heavily again. Straightening up, Lupin takes the gauze off completely, revealing the scars that have marred her smooth skin. They don’t look as angry as they had at first when Snape first sealed her wounds. Her scars are softer now, a light pink that contrasts with her milky skin. 

Darcy watches his face as he examines the scars, sees the look of disgust and revulsion cross his face before it turns to a look of complete, absolute shame. “Darcy —” he whispers, forcing himself to look away from her shoulder. “I’m sorry… I’m so, so —”

“It’s okay.”

Lupin stares at her incredulously. “What?” he asks, his chest heaving. “No, no — it’s not okay. I —” He pauses, looking at her with such a pained expression that Darcy thinks him about to cry. Without finishing his thought, Lupin takes the gauze off her shoulder completely, letting her shoulder out in the open. 

The cool air is welcome. Darcy realizes how tight the bandages had been, how suffocating they had felt. Though it aches, Darcy rolls her shoulder, raises her arm slightly, stretching it. When she raises her arm too high, she winces, lowering her arm at once. The longer she goes without the soaked gauze, however, the more her shoulder stings. She looks at it; the skin is intact and there’s no bleeding, but it’s as if she can feel the scars themselves throbbing violently.

“I’m sorry, I don’t — I don’t know what to say,” he says. “Nothing I say will ever make this right, and I know that.” Lupin gets to his feet, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other. “Ask me anything, Darcy. Ask me anything, and if I can do it for you, I will.” He begins to pace. “Do you want me to resign? I will.” His eyes stay glued to the floor for the most part, but every so often they look to her shoulder. 

At the moment, there is only one thing that she wants. “Can you ask Madam Pomfrey to wrap my shoulder?” she asks with a half smile. “If I shout for her, she might come out of her office throwing hexes everywhere.”

“Oh —! Of course,” he answers quickly, like he’s forgotten all about it. “I could — I mean, if you — it’s the least I can do for you…”

Darcy opens her mouth to reply, but isn’t sure how to answer. The urge to be kind and polite beats out the urge to refuse him. She nods slightly and Lupin nods back. He fumbles around on the bedside table, grabbing the gauze and dunking it in a bowl of potion. He wrings it out, letting it drip over the bowl for a minute before turning back to Darcy. Lupin sits back down beside her and holds it and inch above her shoulder before pressing it to the scars.

She hisses, withdrawing, but Lupin grabs her arm to keep her still. “I’m sorry,” he tells her. “Please stay still.”

He grabs the bandages, his hands still shaking. Darcy looks at his face as he wraps her shoulder, focusing on his work. His face is so close to her’s that she blushes, not having realized that this would be so intimate. His fingertips brush the skin on her arm and shoulder, warm to the touch. Having not slept all night, his eyes are heavy and glossed over. There are bags under his eyes, and he hasn’t shaved in a few days. She notes the lines on his face, making him appear older than he is. But when he smiles, he’s a young man again, effortlessly cool.

Lupin does a good enough job wrapping the bandage tight enough, but also allowing her skin breathing room, which Madam Pomfrey forgets about doing sometimes. When he finishes, he admires his handiwork before inhaling deeply.

“I’m resigning,” Lupin admits. “That’s what I was going to do as soon as I came back to the castle, but Dumbledore had left a note in my office.”

“He won’t accept your resignation, you know.”

“Wh — how could you possibly know that?” he falters. “I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation. Surely he’ll fire me the moment I set foot in his office.”

“Professor Dumbledore’s already been to see me,” Darcy counters. “And he’s already explained the  _ severity _ of the situation. But while he was here, he asked me if I wanted you fired.”

Lupin doesn’t say anything.

“I told him no, if you must know.”

“Darcy, that’s — that’s very sweet of you, but I must resign,” he says solemnly. “I could have killed you — I could have bitten you… you got lucky, but what if it happens again? And what if next time, that person isn’t so lucky? I can’t take that risk. I can’t…”

“I haven’t told anyone, and I won’t.”

Lupin furrows his brows. “Why would you do that?” he asks. “I don’t deserve that, not after what I’ve done to you.”

“You say you were friends with my parents,” she answers. “Would they be happy with me for throwing their friend out of Hogwarts?” Darcy gives him a genuine smile. “Besides, I’d miss our weekly dinners.”

“How can you smile at this?” he wonders. “How can you find a shred of humor in this entire situation?”

Darcy’s smile falls and her face feels warm again. “I made Professor Snape drop the Wolfsbane that night,” she breathes. Her admission makes her feel guilty, but she doesn’t want to blame herself. She knows that Lupin shares part of the blame, and it feels good to have someone else willing to accept the blame, but when she looks at Lupin and sees the sorrow he shows her, Darcy finds it hard to blame him at all. “I was the reason you didn’t have your potion that night.”

_ He’s sorry he hurt you. He would never do it again. You know that. _

“Darcy, none of this is your fault. You cannot blame yourself.”

“If I hadn’t been out, Professor Snape wouldn’t have dropped the potion. If I hadn’t followed you out of the castle, you wouldn’t have hurt me.”

Lupin narrows his eyes, stroking the stubble on his face. He considers this. “Why did you follow me? What did you think you’d catch me doing?”

The words come easy to her. She trusts him, much more than she’s ever trusted Snape, and more than she trusts Dumbledore. They spill out of her without warning. “I thought you were going to meet up with Sirius Black and I had to make sure that wasn’t the case. With every Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, well… there’s always been a catch and you just seemed too good to be true and I was afraid —”

“There is a catch. I’m a werewolf — dangerous to you and those around me. I can’t stay here. You know people will talk.”

“Sir, I promise I won’t tell anyone. But please don’t go,” she begs. Tears well up in Darcy’s eyes. “You can’t leave. In another life, I could have grown up with you at my side — you would have spent holidays at our home, spoken to me as a friend, given me life advice — whatever family friends do.”

It’s clear she catches Lupin off guard. He stares at her with a blank expression. He thinks for a moment, licking his lips. “Dumbledore can’t stop me from walking out that door. He can decline my resignation, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m not going to stay here after what I’ve done. He can ask me to stay all he’d like but —”

“Then don’t stay for him,” Darcy argues. “Don’t stay because Dumbledore is going to ask you to. Stay because I’m asking you to.”


	17. Chapter 17

To Darcy’s surprise, Lupin decides to stay at Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey insists on her staying in bed until after lunch the day that she speaks to him, but when Darcy walks into Defense Against the Dark Arts the following day with Emily, Lupin is just walking out of his office, combing his hair back with his fingers. However, she expects everything to return to normal, which is apparently not what Lupin had in mind.

For the next few weeks, Lupin continues to teach his classes with the same enthusiasm as before, but Darcy notices that as soon as their class is dismissed, his smile falls and his face looks weary and he doesn’t look as well as he normally does. She also doesn’t fail to notice that he avoids eye contact with her, ignoring her completely. Darcy takes care to watch him closely during every class, hoping that he’ll at least glance in her direction, give her a reassuring smile — but it never comes. Lupin asks other students to be volunteers, he doesn’t wander the classroom during lectures to share a smile with Darcy and Emily in the very back. Even in the Great Hall for meals, Lupin doesn’t look at the Gryffindor table. He doesn’t invite her to his office for their weekly dinners, he ignores her when she calls his name, and brushes past her when they happen to meet in the corridors. One day in class, she raises her hand to ask a question, to test his limits, but he answers her curtly with his back facing her, writing on the blackboard.

To be so blatantly ignored by him is worse than if he had left the school altogether. At night, she sits by the fire in the common room, doing her homework or reading or just staring into the flames and thinking. Darcy finds herself silently cursing Lupin quite often, wishing that she had just asked him to leave. He would be gone, and she wouldn’t have to concern herself with him and his petty stubbornness ever again. It infuriates her to know that Lupin is still at Hogwarts only because of her — because she told Dumbledore he shouldn’t fire him, because she begged Lupin not to leave, begged like a little girl — and yet, despite Lupin knowing all of that, he now refuses to even look at her, to acknowledge her.

She tries to see it from his point of view. She tries to be fair, but she can’t. Over the past few weeks, Darcy has made it perfectly clear that she isn’t holding a grudge against him. She has kept his secret even from her closest friends — even from Harry. Darcy touches her shoulder absentmindedly, staring into the fire without really seeing it. She can feel the scars through the fabric of her shirt. Briefly, she wonders if Lupin would be acting the same way to someone else if the circumstances were different — but then she remembers that had that happened to someone else, Lupin would likely be outed and fired.

Basking in anger does nothing for Darcy. It only makes her angrier. Angrier at Lupin, angrier at Emily, angrier at Harry, angrier at everything. She doesn’t want to think about her shoulder anymore, scarred forever because of her own stupidity and recklessness. She doesn’t want to think about Lupin anymore. She doesn’t want to think about what could have happened to her if Snape hadn’t saved her life.

Darcy’s thoughts always make their way to Snape last. The bane of her existence — more so than Lupin. She wishes that Dumbledore had asked her if he should fire Snape. She would have said yes a hundred times. Ever since snatching her away from Lupin, Snape is different, in a way that’s not for the better. He still sneers when he looks at her, his mouth twisting into a cruel, thin-lipped, ugly smile. Darcy loathes to think that Snape actually believes she should be throwing herself at his feet, clinging to his robes and crying for his forgiveness for all the years of bloody torture she’s caused him. She ignores him mostly, making sure every assignment is completed on time, every potion is brewed to perfection, and she rarely speaks in Potions lessons save for when he calls on her — and she always makes sure to answer the questions correctly. It gives Snape little to complain about, and it makes her life easier, as well.

Word travels quickly throughout Hogwarts about Darcy’s unlucky encounter with the Whomping Willow. Most of her friends make japes, especially Oliver Wood, who has seen her on a broomstick before and thinks that Darcy going for a midnight fly is the funniest thing in the world. He and Emily begin to pester Darcy for a look at her shoulder, as well, after Darcy had admitted that she had lasting scars. Each time they ask, Darcy politely refuses, telling them that she’s too embarrassed of them. Oliver drops it after Darcy snaps at him one night in the common room, but Emily persists a few more times until Darcy shouts at her in Charms one day. 

“When I’m ready to show you, I will!”

After that, Emily stops asking, and Professor Flitwick gives them both a withering stare before continuing his lesson.

Hermione, surprisingly enough, begins to interrogate her almost nightly, as well, as if waiting for Darcy to confess something, but Darcy isn’t quite sure what Hermione is searching for. Darcy is certain that Hermione can’t know the truth behind her injuries, but even so, Hermione doesn’t seem to believe Darcy’s lie. Hermione doesn’t laugh at Darcy’s misfortune, nor does she accuse her of anything, so Darcy lets her ask her innocent questions and she maintains her lie.

The incident and all of her friends’ questions have put her on edge, so Darcy busies herself with her schoolwork, and even looks over Ron’s essays when she has the time. Emily had offered to do it, but Ron had found her bullish and overly critical, so Darcy had taken it upon herself to do it simply out of pity, knowing very well that Emily is both of those things. She’s grateful that Ron has taken her lie at face value and enjoys listening to him babble about how terrible Divination is, but how wonderful it is to have it with Harry.

As the school year progresses, their workload grows and grows and grows, and Gemma’s love of drinking is even overshadowed by the amount of work she has. Carla drowns under stress, always bleary eyed and sleep deprived, barely having time to talk to her between classes. Emily helps keep Darcy afloat by quizzing her at random times, reminding her of homework that needs to be done or an essay that’s coming due. She wishes that Gemma would organize something, just to take her mind off things, as drinking alone isn’t half so fun as drinking with friends in a bathroom.

All the while, Darcy’s nightmares still plague her, keeping her awake and leaving her utterly exhausted in the mornings. She tries to move in them now, tries to speak to her mother or Harry or Voldemort, but she can’t control anything. And when the faceless man comes to pull her to his chest, she tries to look up, to see his face, but there’s nothing there, and before she can focus on him, her dreams change. Sirius Black is part of her nightmares now, lank and dirty and lunging at her with both hands outstretched, his long fingers wrapping around her neck, strangling her until her eyes pop and she claws at his hands until they’re nothing but red ribbons. She dreams about Lupin the werewolf, his snarling face inches from hers as her shoulder bleeds out on the dusty floor and burns like fire. She dreams about his long, sharp teeth sinking into her chest, and when he brings his head up again, there’s a chunk of her flesh in his mouth. Whenever she wakes, drenched in sweat, her hand automatically goes to her chest first, and she’s relieved every single time to rediscover that her chest is untouched and still smooth. 

She serves her two detentions a week as per McGonagall’s stern lecture the night the accident happened. The first week Darcy spends with McGonagall herself, grading papers and rewriting old manuscripts and working on her Transfiguration homework in silence. Every so often, McGonagall looks up at Darcy with narrowed eyes, expecting her to protest, but Darcy doesn’t say a word until it’s time to leave. She doesn’t mind the silence and appreciates the break from her friends — and she doesn’t want McGonagall chastising her again. The mere fact that McGonagall knows the truth is enough to make Darcy uncomfortable around her, but they never speak of it. She’s grateful for that much, at least.

The second week of detentions, Darcy spends with Professor Flitwick. These detentions are her favorite, as Flitwick (who gives her a wary look from time to time as if it were her face that was mauled) doesn’t give her any busy work and insteads lets her do her own homework. When she finishes all of that, Flitwick raises no objections when she takes out a book to read, and he does the same. The two of them read in silence until nine o’clock both nights.

The third week, Professor McGonagall approaches her at dinner and tells her that she doesn’t have to serve any more detentions, as there is no point in doing them without _ something _ to do. Darcy thanks her, looking up at Professor Lupin. Lupin avoids her stare, just as he always does, and Darcy sighs, defeated. She thinks for a moment of going up to the long table, making him look at her and talk to her and remember that she’s the reason he’s still here, but Darcy doesn’t want to make a scene, so she retreats to her common room and is struck with a sudden idea.

_ Hagrid _ .  _ Hagrid won’t ignore me.  _

Darcy bundles up as the sky begins to darken slightly. She wraps a scarf around her mouth and heads back down towards the front doors of Hogwarts. Halfway to the great oak doors, however, she decides to make a detour. Darcy hesitates outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, wondering if she should knock or just enter. Against her better judgement, she decides to enter, walking quickly to Lupin’s office and knocking three times in quick succession. 

“Come in,” comes Lupin’s voice, warm and welcoming. It’s been weeks since she’s heard him speak to her like that, and she realizes that she’s missed it.

She walks in, shutting the door gently behind her, wondering if this is a huge mistake. She should have just gone to Hagrid’s without coming here. She should have just waited until Professor Lupin was ready to speak to her. Her heart starts to beat faster and she chews the inside of her cheek. Lupin is putting some books away on a bookshelf, but freezes when he sees her enter out of the corner of his eye. He continues putting the books away, albeit slower, turning slightly so she’s completely hidden from him.

“Professor —”

He sighs heavily as he fits the last book in between two others. 

“Why won’t you look at me?”

And finally, Lupin shuffles around and faces her, his eyes looking into her’s, wide and sad. She hadn’t expected him to succumb so easily, and now that he’s looking at her for the first time in weeks, Darcy isn’t sure how to proceed. She hadn’t worked out what she was going to say on the way here, so she’s at a loss for words. All he does is look at her with those tired eyes of his, his face whiter than usual and his old scars darker against his skin. His shoulders are slumped, his hair messy and falling in his eyes. His jaw is clenched, his lips shut tight. Forcibly reminded of her nightmare, Darcy takes a small step backwards.

“Right,” she says awkwardly, clenching and unclenching her fists. “Well, now that that’s — well, I’m going to Hagrid’s.”

“No,” he says, surprising Darcy. “You shouldn’t be out after dark. Headmaster’s rules. Go back to your common room.”

“No. I’m going to see Hagrid.”

“No.”

At that stupid, simple word, Darcy bristles. “You haven’t spoken to me in weeks unless forced to,” she snarls, but Lupin doesn’t look away from her. “Why did you stay, if you were just going to ignore me like a child? Do you know who does that? Do you know who ignores me when they get angry or embarrassed or ashamed?” She doesn’t give him time to reply. “Harry does. And Harry is a thirteen-year-old boy.”

“You shouldn’t speak to your teacher like that.”

“What are you going to do? Give me a detention?” she replies, crossing her arms over her chest. “Force yourself to be in the same room as me for a few hours?”

Lupin frowns, scrunching his nose. “Hogsmeade is coming up. I can see to it that you don’t go.”

Darcy mentally kicks herself for having gone so far. “Sir, please —”

“Then go back to your common room, Darcy.”

She considers it. She knows she can return to her common room and disappear underneath the Invisibility Cloak to make the trip to Hagrid’s. Darcy wonders if Lupin would check with Emily to see if she’d been in bed, but Emily would lie for her, right? Or would Emily worry and fuss after what happened the last time Darcy hadn’t been in bed? The last thing in the world that she wants is Emily and Lupin teaming up against her.

“What have I done to you?” she asks quietly. “What have I done to deserve this, sir?”

Lupin looks away from her, busying himself by tidying his desk, straightening his quills and adjusting a stack of blank parchment. “You haven’t done anything,” he replies stiffly. “It’s what I’ve done. Please, Darcy, go back to your common room, and  _ don’t _ think about sneaking off to Hagrid’s. It’s dangerous out there at night.”

Darcy heeds Lupin’s warning and decides to wait until Saturday to go to Hagrid’s before Gryffindor’s Quidditch practice. She goes alone, and when Hagrid opens the door, he flashes Darcy an enormous smile underneath his wiry, black beard. He ushers her inside, takes her coat like a gentleman, and pulls one of his smaller seats to the table he’s sitting at. Darcy clambers into the chair, the fire in Hagrid’s hearth warming her bones. The cold, autumn wind pounds against the hut and makes the small windows rattle.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit sooner, Hagrid,” she says sadly, patting his large hand. “I’ve been so busy, and I know that things have been hard for you. How are classes going?” Fang the boarhound shuffles closer to her, putting his chin on her thigh and drooling all over her pants. Darcy scratches at his head and under his chin and ears.

“Terrible,” he replies, and Darcy frowns. “Poor Buckbeak…” He nods towards the back window, and Darcy turns. She hadn’t seen the hippogriff before, but she sees him now, tethered in the pumpkin patch behind Hagrid’s hut. “I keep him inside durin’ the nights ‘cause it gets so cold now, but I want him to enjoy the fresh air until it snows.”

Darcy looks at Hagrid with an incredulous look. “You keep him inside your house at night?” She glances around, unsure of where a hippogriff would even fit in his home. She pictures the hippogriff spreading its wings and leaving absolutely no room for Hagrid to live. “Has anyone said anything about what’ll happen to him?”

“Not yet,” Hagrid admits, staring out towards the pumpkin patch wistfully. “But I know somethin’ll come o’ this. No doubt Lucius Malfoy is plottin’ somethin’.”

“I’m sorry, Hagrid. I know it wasn’t your fault. Harry, Ron, and Hermione told me everything. I thought a hippogriff was a wonderful start to classes.”

“Thanks, Darcy,” Hagrid smiles weakly. “Yer sweet to me. Would’ya like ter see him?”

Darcy falters, but doesn’t want to upset him even more. “Oh — sure, I’d love that.”

Hagrid leads her outside, Fang at Darcy’s heels. When she sees the hippogriff, she’s surprised by its beauty. Buckbeak’s feathers are sleek and a beautiful gray-blue, its eyes beady and black, watching her carefully. When it stands, it spreads its wings, pawing the ground with all four legs. Darcy sees the talons, the long and sharp claws on its feet, and she backs away, nearly tripping over Fang. The boarhound whines as Darcy clutches her shoulder unconsciously, staring at the talons. 

“It’s all righ’,” Hagrid reassures her putting a massive hand on her back. “He’s not as mean as everyone makes him out ter be.”

“It’s not that, Hagrid,” she says meekly. “I just — he’s lovely, truly beautiful, but… a bit scary, don’t you think?”

“Harry rode him, did he say?”

“He did. It’s very impressive.”

“I won’ make yeh ride him,” Hagrid chuckles, patting her back and slapping her a little too hard. Darcy stumbles forward and the sudden movement frightens the hippogriff. Buckbeak charges forward and Darcy scrambles backwards, but the chain around Buckbeak’s neck stops him from reaching her. Realizing that Buckbeak has frightened Darcy, Hagrid hurries her back inside the hut as she rubs her aching shoulder. 

He pours her a cup of tea and she looks down at it. She’s never liked tea, and that’s a fact that Hagrid’s always forgotten about her. She drinks it politely anyway, cringing at the taste. They both sit together in the smoky hut in silence for a little bit, a comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company. Finally, Darcy puts her tea down and starts to scratch at Fang’s head again. Her thighs are soaked from his drool, but she doesn’t mind. 

“Hagrid,” she begins. “What do you think of Professor Lupin?”

Hagrid smiles widely. “I remember when he was just a boy,” he explains. “I took him across the lake durin’ his firs’ year, and I remember him. Shakin’ like a leaf, he was, white-faced and frightened. I never knew him like I know you, Darcy, an’ yer brother and Ron and Hermione, but he was always polite to me — smart, his teachers said, and a great wizard. I’m glad Professor Dumbledore brought him back to teach. How’ve his classes been?”

“Great,” she replies truthfully. “He’s a wonderful teacher.”

“Yer brother said the same thing. Why yeh askin’?”

Darcy puts on her sweetest smile and looks at Hagrid. “No reason,” she says. 

“He was friends with yer parents,” Hagrid continues. “Don’t know if he’s told yeh.”

“Yeah, he has.” Darcy has a sudden thought. “Hagrid, tell me about the night that my parents died.”

His face pales. “Now, why would yeh wanna know ‘bout that?” Hagrid replies, a little louder. Darcy shrinks away from him, her face turning red. “I’ve told yeh ‘bout it before, and I don’t like thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

She gets to her feet and Fang follows her, sniffing at her shoes and bumping his head against the backs of her thighs. Darcy looks out the window, watching Buckbeak dig into the earth, and then she moves in front of the hearth, holding her hands out in front of the fire. “I’ve been having terrible nightmares,” she whispers. Darcy looks around the hut and becomes slightly dizzy, needing some fresh air. Hagrid watches her intensely. “And in my dreams, it’s always the night that my parents die. And after Voldemort kills my mum, someone picks me up from the ruins of our home and holds me, but —” She gazes at Hagrid for a moment. “It’s not you. He’s smaller than you. I never see his face. I don’t know who he is.”

Hagrid doesn’t answer for a long time. He just watches her, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. His face is still pale, from what’s visible underneath all of his hair. Darcy purses her lips and lowers her hands to her sides. 

“Hagrid, who is it?” she asks quietly. “Who holds me after mum dies? Is it Professor Lupin?” She leans in closer to her friend, expecting an answer, but Hagrid seems to struggle with his words. 

“No,” Hagrid answers, and Darcy sighs. “Yer mistaken, Darcy,” he adds, clearing his throat. “No one was there but me an’ the the crowd. Yeh must jus’ be rememberin’ a — a Muggle pickin’ yeh up. Or maybe it is me. It’s jus’ a dream.”

Darcy, disappointed, slumps her shoulders, staring into the fire. “Yeah… it’s just a dream…”

Emily, Ron, and Hermione are already at the Quidditch pitch by the time Darcy gets there. The Gryffindor Quidditch team are already flying around, warming up by tossing a Quaffle back and forth. In the stands, a few Gryffindors sat watching, but the seats around Darcy’s friends are empty. Emily watches them fly, squinting as the sun beats down on her, and when Darcy approaches, Emily doesn’t look away. “Where’ve you been?” she asks.

“I was with Hagrid,” Darcy answers, sitting between Emily and Ron. “Why didn’t anyone tell me how scary that hippogriff was?”

“ _ Thank _ you,” Ron snorts. “He keeps it inside his house, did you know that?”

“He mentioned it.”

Oliver Wood, Keeper for the Quidditch team, flies over their heads. Darcy’s hair falls over her eyes and she fixes it as he swoops back down in front of them all. Behind him, his team lands on the ground, gathering the rest of their equipment and adjusting their robes. Oliver hovers in front of Darcy, stretching out on his broomstick, and Darcy smiles shyly at him. 

“Glad you could make it, Darcy,” he says with a wide grin. The wind has tousled his hair and flushed his face a light pink. 

“I came for Harry, not for you,” she teases.

“Hogsmeade trip tomorrow,” he reminds her. “Want to come with me?”

Darcy laughs. “I’m going with my friends.”

“Ah,” he groans, smiling all the same. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Meet me at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow if you want to grab a drink.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

He flies away, shouting at his team as they mount their brooms. Emily looks at Darcy with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. “I’m so proud of you, Darcy,” she says, squeezing her arm. “Seven years now and you’ve never once said yes.”

“I did say yes one time,” Darcy replies. “Don’t you remember?”

“What happened?” Hermione interjects, brimming with curiosity. “It can’t have been terrible if he still asks you, right?”

Darcy glances down at Hermione, remembering with mixed feelings the one date that she’d had with Oliver. In truth, it had ended quite badly, but Oliver thought it had been wonderful. She shares a knowing look with Emily, who looks back towards the field with a small smirk on her face. Darcy finds Harry in the crowd of players. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm still grieving over the patriots loss on sunday

Harry walks back to the castle with Darcy after practice. His hair is plastered to his forehead by sweat, and his cheeks are bright red, as well as the tip of his nose. They hang back, walking slowly behind the gaggle of Gryffindors, being led by Emily who tells them a story with all the enthusiasm she can muster. The crowd chuckles as one, and Darcy smiles. 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” she says to Harry, holding her arms around her to keep her warm. Oliver had called practice to a halt when the snow began to fall, and it’s only worsened. It comes down in huge flakes from dark, puffy clouds, and the wind blows the snow into her eyes. “I’m sorry we haven’t gotten the chance to talk.”

“You know how Quidditch season is,” he replies, sounding almost disappointed, but this makes Darcy smile even more. 

She elbows him lightly. “I know you love it,” she jokes. “I do, too. Hopefully the weather is better for your first game.”

“So does the whole team.”

What are you doing for Christmas?” Darcy asks, draping an around around Harry’s shoulders. “You aren’t going to Ron’s, are you?”

“If I were, you know you’d be invited,” he smiles up at Darcy. “Ron’s staying here with me.”

“All my friends are going home for the holidays,” Darcy adds, skipping ahead a few paces and walking backwards in front of her brother. “We’ll have plenty of time to hang out. All four of us can do something.”

“That’d be great.”

Once back in the common room, Harry and Darcy sneak out of the common room under the Invisibility Cloak, heading up to the owlery, where the wind is ruthless and burns their faces. Darcy coaxes Max down just as he’s waking to hunt, and Hedwig is already gone. They both feed Max some treats and coo over him, but Max eventually grows tired of their constant pets and flies off out the window. 

“You’re going to Hogsmeade tomorrow, aren’t you?” he asks her.

Darcy looks at him with a half smile. “I was going to,” she replies. “But — hey! I could stay at the castle and we could hang out. That could be fun.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I — you should go. You’ve been waiting for this trip.”

“There will be others,” she shrugs. “Besides, we have so much to catch up on. Like… oh — I went to Hagrid’s today. Saw that hippogriff.”

“Buckbeak? Yeah, Hagrid probably has him in the house by now.” Harry throws the rest of the owl treats in his hand on the floor, and the remaining owls swarm to them, pecking at the floor, hoping for a treat. “How’re you feeling? I mean — how’s your shoulder? It’s not still hurting, is it?”

“My shoulder’s fine,” she says, as it throbs suddenly. She brushes it off. “It could have been a lot worse.”

“I was worried about you,” he admits. “I hate that tree.”

The previous year, Darcy had flown Ron’s dad’s car into the Whomping Willow — completely by accident, of course. The car had grown tired, had stopped running while they were nearing Hogwarts, and through the darkness they plunged towards the grounds, gaining speed. Darcy had screamed as the car landed in the branches of the Whomping Willow, and for a moment, she had thought they were safe. Just as she went to open the door and climb shakily down the branches, the car was being slammed and thrown by the tree. Its branches were its fists, pounding the car’s roof, shattering the windshield, and poking thin fingers through the windows. All three of them had been screaming, shouting for help, trying to escape the car. 

After beaten beaten nearly to a pulp, the car had magically restarted, driving them away from the tree. Mr. Weasley’s car had ejected them all and afterwards, they all stood just out of range of the Whomping Willow, trembling and shaky on their feet as the car left them outside the castle with their belongings, and with Ron’s broken wand.

“What did Professor Lupin say? When he came to see you?” Harry asks her, the wind catching his sister’s hair to swirl it above her head. 

Darcy pulls her hood up, but they both agree to don the Invisibility Cloak once more to return to the warm common room. “He’d heard what happened, is all,” she explains. “Wanted to make sure I was okay and wanted to let me know that I still had to do the essay.”

“Harsh,” Harry chuckles. “Seems like a very  _ Snape _ thing to do.”

The both of them laugh, but Darcy’s heart isn’t really in it.

When Darcy wakes the next morning, the snow is still falling. She puts on her warmest clothes, her thickest and toughest boots, and she and Emily meet up with Carla and Gemma at the front doors of the castle, talking excitedly about Hogsmeade.

Carla’s yellow and black scarf is wound tightly around her mouth and nose, her hat pulled down to her eyebrows. The only part of her face that’s visible are her big, brown eyes, and she’s pulled on quite a few sweatshirts underneath her coat, making her look three times her normal size. 

Gemma’s wrapped in an expensive looking cloak, her hood pulled up over her dark hair. Her scarf, as well, has her House colors — green and silver. While not dressed as warmly as any of her friends, Gemma is well protected from the snow and is eager to get going.

Their trip to Hogsmeade isn’t as fun as they’d thought it would be. Darcy can’t stop thinking about Harry the entire time, wanting to go back to the castle to spend some time with him until her schoolwork and his Quidditch practices start to separate them again. The four of them complain of the cold and the crowd of people in each store, but the Three Broomsticks offers them refuge. As soon as Darcy walks through the door and starts to peel off her gloves, Oliver Wood is calling her name, almost appearing from nowhere, waving her over to a table in the corner with two glasses of butterbeer already waiting.

Emily protests, but Carla and Gemma push Darcy towards him, leaving her to fend for her own as the three of her friends sit at a seat with a clear view of Oliver. Sighing heavily, she puts on a big smile and sits down at the seat across from Oliver. He pushes the glass towards her. “For you,” he says. “I knew you’d come.”

“Yes, well… there weren’t a lot of places to go…” They both take an awkward sip, looking at each other. Darcy lowers her glasses and smacks her lips. “The team looks great. You guys will definitely take home the cup this year.”

“We’d better,” Oliver replies, very seriously. “This is the last chance I’ve got to win it.”

“You’ll do fine, Oliver. The team has never looked better. Harry’s flying really well.”

“Emily’s been trying to give me pointers.  _ Me _ — can you believe that? If I needed her advice, I would have her on the team.”

Darcy laughs, looking over her shoulder at Emily. All three of her friends are watching her, but when she turns, they look away, giggling as Madam Rosmerta brings them their drinks. “Emily’s mum loves Quidditch and Emily grew up around it,” Darcy tells him. “She’s loved the sport ever since learning what it was. She’d probably play it if she wasn’t so afraid of flying.”

“Emily’s afraid of flying?”

“She’s worse than I am. First year, she wouldn’t even get on her broomstick,” Darcy says, and they both laugh again. 

Darcy finds it refreshing to spend time with Oliver Wood. He talks to her mostly about Quidditch, about the team, about Harry, about the tactics he’s spent hours working on. Darcy lets him talk, knowing that Quidditch excites him, and it’s the only thing he’s truly passionate about. He doesn’t ask about her shoulder, about her nightmares, or about classes except to see when their Transfiguration homework was due. In fact, when talking about what he loves, it’s quite endearing, even though he rambles and doesn’t know when to move on to the next topic.

Eventually, Oliver convinces her to accompany him to Spintwitches Sporting Goods and, in turn, he follows her to Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop. Oliver carries her bags out of the shop and after stocking up on candy from Honeydukes and after Oliver gets his fill of prank goods from Zonko’s, it’s been a few hours and Darcy’s starting to get hungry. The two of them pass Darcy’s friends in the street on their way back to the Three Broomsticks. 

“We’re going back to the castle,” Carla says. “I’m freezing. Are you coming?”

Oliver looks at Darcy expectantly, raising his eyebrows. Darcy considers him. “No, I’ll stay a little longer. I’m going to get some food and then I’ll be up.”

“All right,” Emily smiles. “Don’t be long.”

Oliver buys her lunch — a platter of small, sample sized sandwiches that they share. They also share polite conversation, and Darcy can’t help but to smile at him, at his cold cheeks and goofy grin. His hair is still damp from the snow, but the flakes that had fallen on his eyelashes have melted, making his eyes slightly wet. Soon, they eat all the sandwiches, drink two more glasses of butterbeer, and they’ve exhausted all conversation. It’s quiet, and Oliver pays for their food before Darcy can offer to pay for her own half.

“You can go back up to the castle if you’d like,” he says, leaning back in his seat, looking quite tired. “You don’t have to stay here with me. I didn’t expect you to come.”

_ I hadn’t expected you to wait for me _ . “That’s all right,” Darcy answers. “Maybe a little while longer. It’s nice to get my mind off things.”

“Are you going to divulge to me what that means?” Oliver cocks an eyebrow. “What sorts of things could possibly be bothering you, Darcy Potter?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Stop trying to get me to reveal all my secrets. If I do that, I may not be so interesting to you anymore.”

Darcy and Oliver wander the streets of Hogsmeade for a little while longer, window shopping, visiting the post office, and they eventually seat themselves on a bench under a large tree, picking their favorite candies out of Darcy’s Honeydukes bag and eating them. Darcy’s stomach is already stuffed, so she retires the rest of her candy after finishing a lollipop, and Oliver follows her lead. 

It’s then that Darcy notices Oliver’s moved closer to her as they were eating. She looks at his face, snowflakes melting on his warm skin. Darcy’s never thought Oliver particularly handsome, but not terribly ugly. He’s always been big, as far as Darcy can remember — broad in the shoulders with bulky arms that continue to grow more muscular with each passing day. His face is angular and sharp, and dark stubble grows on his cheeks and chin in patches. The stubble is new — she can’t recall seeing that last year. 

Emily, Carla, and Gemma continue to call it a date to this day, but Darcy hardly considers it that. Oliver had come to one of Gemma’s bathroom get togethers at the beginning of their sixth year, drank more than he’d ever drank before, and ended up vomiting on Darcy’s clothes. Too drunk to be angry, Darcy helped him clean her clothes after he had dunked them in the bath water, resulting in more people vomiting at the idea of sitting in vomit water. Darcy felt bad for Oliver, red-faced and embarrassed, and they had ended up stumbling to a different nearby bathroom, giggling the whole way. Oliver had run his hands up and down her body, giving her wet, sloppy, and drunken kisses, but all she can remember is how much tongue he’d used, how inexperienced he’d seemed, and how much he talked while he fucked her in an empty stall. 

It was terrible, cramped, and dirty, and her foot had touched the toilet water once or twice. Oliver hadn’t lasted very long and Darcy never finished, but she thanked him all the same. When Darcy had given her friends all the details the next night, Gemma laughed the loudest. “You should have at least told him to get you off,” she’d said, and Emily had nodded in agreement. Darcy and Oliver ended up meeting a few more times after that, always in the same bathroom stall, and it always ended the same way. She blames all the free periods she’d had, but she’d never admit to Oliver that she only slept with him because she was bored.

It’s that night she thinks of when she examines his face closely. She wonders if he’s learned to kiss better, or learned to keep his mouth shut while he’s inside someone. Out of complete boredom and curiosity, Darcy kisses him, and Oliver snakes his arms around her waist quickly, holding her to him and kissing her with such ferocity. It turns out he hasn’t gotten any better, and his kisses are just as wet as she remembers, and he forces his tongue into mouth at the first opportunity. Darcy struggles against him, trying to pull away, when she hears the sound that saves her.

“ _ Ahem _ .”

Darcy jumps back from Oliver, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Her cheeks flush a deep red when she sees Lupin standing before them, his face set. Regardless, she’s thankful for the intrusion, no matter the embarrassment. “Sorry, Professor —” Oliver starts, but Lupin cuts him off.

“Sorry for interrupting what I’m sure was a very loving moment,” Lupin says coldly. “May I borrow Darcy for a moment?”

Oliver stammers, in no position to refuse him. He looks from Darcy to Lupin and back again. “I — I — sure, I guess.”

“Come,” Lupin says, holding out his arm for her. Darcy gets to her feet quickly, watching Lupin carefully. Part of her is ecstatic that he’s actually in front of her, talking to her, but the other part of her is nervous. He looks so pathetic standing there with an outstretched arm, nothing like the werewolf Lupin she sees in her dreams. He doesn’t even seem to be dressed for the occasion, in a heavy traveling cloak, but lacking gloves, a scarf, or a hat. Darcy takes it hesitantly, looking up at him with uncertainty. “Walk with me.”

Darcy looks over her shoulder at Oliver, and he offers her a small smile before she walks away. Lupin does seem unsteady on his feet, and she remembers with a jolt that the full moon is coming up. He leans on her slightly, leading her away from the main street of Hogsmeade towards the outskirts of the village, where the Shrieking Shack is just visible through the blowing snow. He brings her to the fence that surrounds Hogsmeade and she lets go of his arm, making sure he’s stable.

“Thank you for saving me,” she says meekly with a shy smile. 

“Saving you?” Lupin scoffs. “Is that what I did?”

“Well, yeah — I mean…” Darcy blushes again. “He’s a terrible kisser.”

At that, Lupin laughs out loud. “What is he — seventeen? Eighteen? All men are bad kissers at that age.”

“You know this from experience, sir?”

Lupin gives her an exasperated smile. “I was your age once,” he retorts. “It seems like a lifetime ago, but…” He looks her up and down before turning to look at the Shrieking Shack. She stands beside him, waiting for something. She knows there has to be some reason he’s brought her out here — some reason that he tracked her down in Hogsmeade. “When you went through the Whomping Willow,” he says again after a long pause. Darcy pulls her jacket around her tighter, goosebumps rising on her skin that have nothing to do with the cold. “That tunnel brought you into the Shrieking Shack.”

“They say it’s haunted,” she blurts out, but she feels a right fool the minute the words leave her mouth.

Lupin looks at her as if she’s crazy. “No, it’s not,” he chuckles. “It’s not haunted. It was built for me, when I came to Hogwarts.”

“You were bitten before you came to Hogwarts?”

He nods, pausing and brushing the snow from his hair. In the sunlight, Darcy can see the gray that streaks through his shaggy, brown hair. Even in the hair that’s grown on his face is peppered with gray. “A story for another time, perhaps,” he sighs. Lupin looks at her, his eyes flicking to her shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

“I mean — your shoulder. How’s your shoulder?”

“My shoulder is fine.” Lupin doesn’t seem convinced, however. “Truly.”

“I spoke with Harry today,” Lupin continues, looking back towards the Shrieking Shack. “He cares about you a great deal.”

“He means a lot to me, as well, sir.”

Lupin nods, flashing her an honest smile, but something about him just seems sad. Each time he smiles at her, no matter what expression is hidden behind it, Darcy can’t help but to smile back. “Harry didn’t know,” he mutters. “He had no idea — he said nothing that made me think he knew. Professor Snape brought my potion when he was in my office and Harry had  _ no idea _ .”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone,” she says. “Not even Harry.”

“It seems I’m at your mercy.”

“You don’t have to feel like —” Darcy laughs, but Lupin doesn’t seem amused. Her face falls and she plunges on, struggling to find proper words. “Professor, I’m not going to hold this against you. I hope you don’t think that’s the kind of person that I am. I would never —”

“If you’re really your mother’s daughter, then I know that’s not the kind of person you are.” Lupin holds out his arm again and this time, Darcy takes it eagerly. Her heart soars at the fact that he’s just talking to her, being so open with her — as open as he can be with her. They walk away from the Shrieking Shack, taking care to avoid the main street, but staying close to the soft murmur of excited students’ voices. “I owe you an apology, Darcy. Well... I owe you several apologies, actually.”

Darcy looks up at him again, watching. He doesn’t look at her, but keeps his eyes ahead of him. 

“I know I’ve been cold towards you,” he continues. “But you have to understand — this kind of thing was exactly what I was afraid of, yet Dumbledore  _ assured _ me that it wouldn’t happen.” He pauses, sniffling and rubbing at his short beard. “I was going to resign. That day we spoke in the hospital wing, I went back to my office and I hid in my chambers and I packed all of my belongings. I was going to leave that night.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t,” he replies quietly. “I should have, but I didn’t.”

“Why?”

He looks down at Darcy and tilts his head slightly. “Because you asked me to stay.” He inhales deeply, nodding towards the path back to Hogwarts. The sky is beginning to darken now, colored red and pink. “Shall we go back to the castle?”

Darcy briefly wonders about Oliver Wood, sitting alone on a bench. She wonders if she should go back to him, if he’s still waiting. But she looks up at Lupin’s face, and he’s smiling at her — always smiling that cool, easy smile. She nods. “Yes,” she says. “Let’s.”


	19. Chapter 19

“ _ Ew _ ! No one here wants to know how much tongue he uses!” Emily cringes, shaking her head.

Gemma laughs. “Someone needs to tell him. You can’t just let him go kissing other girls like that!”

Darcy scoffs. “I’m not going to tell him how to kiss. When he gets a girlfriend, she can tell him.”

“I think he thinks you  _ are _ his girlfriend,” Gemma replies, eyebrows raised.

“Wh — I’m not! No!” Darcy groans. “No, definitely not.”

“You kissed him. By all the laws of teenage boys, he now thinks that you’re his girlfriend,” Emily says very seriously. She glances around, to make sure he’s not nearby. “You should not have done that without consulting us first. I thought we were a team, here.”

Darcy stops in the middle of the corridor and her friends stop with her. “Okay, let’s get one thing straight — I’m not going to consult any of you about any boy that I want to kiss. I didn’t even really want to do it in the first place, anyway. I was just bored!”

“You don’t just kiss boys because you’re bored,” Emily adds. “If you were that bored, I would have given you more homework to finish or something!”

Carla agrees. “Yeah, I’ve got a Potions essay that I’m really struggling with. I could’ve used your help, but  _ no _ … you had to go off and kiss Oliver Wood.”

“Oh, god…” Darcy whispers. “Am I going to have to break up with a boy that’s not my boyfriend?”

“You could do that,” Gemma nods. “Tell him to fuck off. Or you could just ignore him for the rest of your life.”

“Oliver can’t take a hint, Gemma,” Emily argues. “Even if she did ignore him the rest of her life, he would not give up. He hasn’t given up with Darcy for seven years now.”

“First year, he tried to kiss me on the lips,” Darcy explains. She pauses, remembering how eleven-year-old Oliver Wood had tried to give her an innocent peck on the mouth, but Darcy had moved too quickly and his lips had brushed her eyebrow instead. “I screamed.”

“How did you end up getting away from him anyway?” Carla asks, chuckling. 

“Professor Lupin came for me,” Darcy answers casually, glancing towards Emily. “He had something he wanted to discuss.”

“Professor Lupin…” Gemma sighs contentedly. “There’s a boy I wouldn’t mind kissing.”

“Gemma!” Emily snaps.

“ _ Please _ ,” Gemma retorts. “Don’t act like you weren’t trying to get Professor Lockhart to notice you. Smiling every time he looked at you, showing off your tits whenever you could — don’t ‘ _ Gemma _ ’ me. Besides, I’ve never kissed anyone with a beard before.”

“I didn’t show off my —” Emily growls, her face reddening. When she starts to stutter, her friends laugh at her, Darcy included. “Are you done?” she snaps at everyone at their chortling comes to an end.

“You certainly spend a lot of time with Professor Lupin,” Gemma notes, throwing an arm around Emily’s shoulders as she looks at Darcy. “What do you talk about when you’re locked up in his office together?”

Darcy shrugs her shoulders, and her left one twinges. “My parents, mostly.” 

“That’s depressing,” Gemma blurts out, frowning at Carla. “I was expecting something a little more cheerful.” 

As they reach the doors of the Great Hall, Gemma breaks off to join her fellow Slytherins. Darcy, Emily, and Carla linger at the threshold as other students push past them to get to the feast. Carla purses her lips and pats Darcy on the shoulder. “Gemma means well,” she says awkwardly, before hurrying off to the Hufflepuff Table.

Darcy’s always loved the Halloween Feast at Hogwarts, partially because it always reminds her that winter break is very near. The Great Hall is always done up beautifully with bats soaring around the hall, and candles and glowing pumpkins fresh from Hagrid’s light the room. Bright stars flicker at the very top, giving the illusion of the clear night sky that’s outside. Though she’s never been fond of sweets, Emily takes lollipops, chocolates, peppermints, and the like and she stuffs the candy in her pockets until her pants are bulging. 

Despite all that she’d eaten in Hogsmeade, Darcy fills her plate with pork chops and mashed potatoes with thick, rich gravy. As she spoons a medley of vegetables onto her plate to mix with the gravy, she spoons some onto Harry’s plate, across the table. Harry looks at her, a look of disgust on his face, but she insists. “Eat them,” she says sternly, and she goes back to her food while Harry pushes the vegetables to the side of his plate and Ron snorts.

“Should we skip the ghosts this year?” Emily whispers in her ear. “If we get back to the common room first, we can claim the seats by the fire.”

Darcy considers it. The ghosts do their silly performance every year for Halloween, and while it may have been exciting and scary the first three times, it’s quite old now. “Yeah.”

As the feast comes to a close, Darcy and Emily sneak out of the Great Hall, walking a bit more slowly after eating their fill. Darcy puts a hand on her swollen stomach, groaning. They can hear the other students laughing and clapping as they make their way up the first staircase towards Gryffindor Tower. By the time they’re halfway to the common room, the other students have begun to file out of the Great Hall, and the two girls can hear their voices growing nearer as they stop outside of the portrait hole — but something is wrong, very wrong.

The Fat Lady in the portrait is gone without a trace, and there are three long, violent slashes across the canvas. Chunks of the portrait are at her feet, and Darcy kneels, picking up the ribbons scattered on the floor. Heart racing, she runs her fingers over the slashes in the portrait and then turns to her friend. 

Emily shakes Darcy slightly, as if waking her from a dream. “Darcy…” Emily says breathlessly, grabbing onto Darcy’s arm. “We need to find someone…”

“What’s going on? Why aren’t you going inside?”

Darcy turns around quickly and Percy Weasley, Head Boy, struts towards them with his chest out. He pushes Darcy and Emily aside and stops dead at the sight of the portrait. Percy’s face falls and the color leaves him, and his false confidence turns to worry and fear. “Get Professor Dumbledore.” He looks again to Darcy and Emily, who are frozen where they stand. “ _ Now _ .”

But Professor Dumbledore is already there, squeezing through the crowd of students now huddled around outside Gryffindor Tower. Darcy and Emily move aside for him instantly, unsure of what to think, but knowing that Professor Dumbledore will makes things right. As Dumbledore moves to speak with Professor McGonagall with a severe look on his face, Emily and Darcy grab each other, holding each other close and looking out amongst the sea of students. 

“We need to search every portrait in this castle,” he mutters, but his voice echoes in the cavernous halls. “Tell Mr. Filch —”

A cackling makes Darcy jump and she looks up to see Peeves floating down towards them, casual as can be. His arms are folded over his short body, and Dumbledore’s eyes follow him carefully. Darcy has always hated Peeves, ever since first year when he tossed water balloons on her in front of everyone, but Peeves ignores her right now. He almost floats  _ in _ her, but ends up lying in midair a few inches from her face, looking at Dumbledore with a twisted, wicked smile.

“As it happens,” Peeves begins dramatically, rolling over in the air. “I’ve seen her. Absolutely dreadful — running through portraits and crying something  _ truly _ awful.” Darcy sees the poltergeist smile wider. “I’ve heard the story she’s telling and let me tell you, your Professorhead will not be happy.”

“Peeves,” Dumbledore says curtly. “Who did this? What did she say?”

Peeves the Poltergeist chuckles darkly, making the hairs on the back of Darcy’s neck stand up. “She wouldn’t let him in without the password, you see,” he hisses. “And he got angry.” Peeves zooms up towards the ceiling and howls with laughter. “Nasty temper he’s got, that Sirius Black.”

Darcy’s heart stops.  _ He’s lying _ , she thinks.  _ Peeves lies. He doesn’t know what really happened _ .  _ It’s just another prank of his.  _ But everyone seems to take him at his word. All at once, all of the students around the portrait begin to scream and squirm and talk loudly. Even Emily sees paler than usual as she grips Darcy’s arm, digging her sharp fingernails into her skin. Darcy forcibly remembers her dream — Sirius Black, choking her with those long, bonelike fingers of his, and Darcy scratching his hands, scratching his face, making him bleed as he kills her… Her fingers touch her neck, her smooth neck, and she breathes heavily for a moment, having forgotten to. 

Darcy looks at Emily. “ _ Harry _ .”

Emily doesn’t hesitate and follows Darcy. They both rush through the crowd, pushing past older students and younger students and crying out Harry’s name over the chattering Gryffindors. It’s after Emily pushes four second years aside that they both run into someone who doesn’t fall or stumble or protest, but grabs both of their arms and looks at them with wide eyes.

“What’s going on?” Lupin asks them. “Peeves said —”

“Where’s Harry?” Darcy asks at the same time.

“Sirius Black tried to get into the common room,” Emily explains, tripping over her words. “The Fat Lady is gone —”

“ _ Darcy _ !”

Darcy sighs a huge sigh of relief as Harry runs at her, and they both wrap their arms around each other, squeezing tight. She kisses his head, adrenaline making her tremble and shake as she holds onto her brother to steady her. “Oh, Harry —”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.” Harry sounds annoyed, irritated, but he allows his sister to show affection towards him, and hugs her back.

The first year, Darcy knew he’d been embarrassed of her. She had been overbearing at times, worrying over trivial injuries and small worries. Darcy had held him to her as a mother would, she’d kissed his forehead and always worried so damn much. Harry had pushed her off mostly, always flushing a deep red when she came running towards him, but after  _ everything _ last year, Harry had not stopped Darcy from crying over him, kissing him, and holding him after he woke in the hospital wing.

“Come on,” Lupin says hastily. He places a hand on the small of Darcy’s back and his other hand on Harry’s shoulder. “We need to get you out of here.”

Dumbledore sends the Gryffindors to the Great Hall to sleep, as well as the students from the other Houses. Carla and Gemma find Darcy and Emily almost immediately, and Emily recalls to them what happened — according to Peeves. Darcy sits a little bit away from her friends, beside Harry, fingering the zipper of the purple sleeping bag that Dumbledore had summoned. She can’t bring herself to lay down, not with all the thoughts rushing through her head. Dumbledore and the other teachers leave the Great Hall soon, leaving Percy Weasley to yell at everyone and take unnecessary control. In the end, after Percy hovers over her for a long two minutes, Darcy lays down beside Harry, who is staring up at the ceiling.

She wishes Professor Lupin would come talk to her, to hear her complaints and grievances, to not laugh at her worries and fears. He would understand her fear about Sirius Black — how had he gotten into the castle? Lupin would know. He’d have an idea. Sirius had tried to get into Gryffindor Tower — he tried to get to Harry, to kill him, to possibly kill  _ her _ . How many others would he have killed in the process? As many as necessary? 

Darcy frowns. If he  _ had _ meant to kill Harry and Darcy and whoever else he wanted, why had he tried to enter Gryffindor Tower while the feast was going on? Surely Sirius Black knew that it was Halloween, had heard the voices coming from the Great Hall, had seen the empty corridors and figured that all the students couldn’t possibly be in the common room… but it could be that he’d lost track of time. After all, the dementors probably twisted his mind…

_ The dementors _ . How would Sirius have gotten past the dementors? They were everywhere, surrounding Hogwarts incase of a scenario just like that — and they hadn’t done  _ anything _ to stop Sirius Black from getting in. He had to have passed them, had to have seen them, had to have  _ felt _ them. He should be weak from living on the run, weak enough for the dementors to capture him easily should he set foot near Hogwarts. 

“Darcy?” Harry’s voice interrupts her thoughts, and she rolls over in her sleeping bag to face him. “Are you all right?”

_ No _ . “Yes,” she lies. But Harry looks at her as if he already knows how she’s feeling. “He was so close tonight, Harry. What if we’d been in there? What if you’d been sleeping?”

“But I wasn’t,” Harry assures her with a small smile. He reaches out for her hand and she takes it, giving his small, soft hand a squeeze. “If he’s still in Hogwarts, they  _ will _ find him.”

“And if they don’t?” she asks, quieting when Percy walks past her with a scornful look. She waits until he’s out of earshot before continuing. “What if he’s already gone and planning to break into the castle again?”

“There won’t be a second time,” Harry tells her, but Darcy can’t tell if he’s lying or not. “Dumbledore will make sure this won’t happen again.”

Sleep doesn’t come easily to Darcy that night. She’s afraid to dream, afraid to see Sirius Black again. Each time the doors open to admit another teacher to check on the students, Darcy sits up, hands shaking and sweating. When the doors open for McGonagall around one in the morning, she looks at Darcy and purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything. 

The next hour, when the doors open and Darcy sits up to see who it is, her heart soars at the sight of Professor Lupin walking in, closing the doors quietly behind him. He walks up and down the aisles of sleeping students, chuckling to himself at the sight of Percy dozing up against a wall. Darcy hugs her knees to her chest and he makes his way to her, and when he finally reaches her side, he kneels beside her.

“You should get some sleep,” he whispers. “I can’t have you falling asleep in my class tomorrow morning.” He offers her a smile, but it doesn’t help.

“Have you found him yet?”

Lupin frowns, considering her. He looks at Harry, snoring slightly, but Darcy has a feeling he’s not really asleep. “No, not yet,” he answers. “We’ve almost finished searching the entire castle, but there’s no sign of him.” 

“He’s just gone? How could he do that?” she asks again, running a hand through her hair. “What about the dementors? They’ll find him, won’t they?”

“They might,” Lupin agrees. “But Dumbledore won’t let them in the castle.”

“But they —”

“You’d rather they come in? After what they did on the train?” Lupin looks around again, then turns back to Darcy. He lowers his voice so Darcy has to lean closer to hear him. “Listen, you have nothing to fear. Sirius Black will not stay here while everyone is looking for him. Dumbledore will make sure something like this will never happen again.”

Darcy looks at him for a long time, unsure of what to say. His face is so honest, his smile so warm, that she wants to believe him. But she’s wary — both Harry and Lupin seem to put so much trust into Dumbledore, but she can’t bring herself to. Not after all that’s happened, not after all they’ve gone through.

“Get some rest, now,” he says, getting to his feet slowly. “You’re safe here.”

“No, don’t go —” she whispers as he starts to walk away. Lupin stops, turning around again to look at her. He waits expectantly for her to continue. “I can’t sleep.”

Lupin nods. “I’ll talk to Madam Pomfrey for you.”

She watches him go. He wakes Percy, who jumps and clears his throat loudly as he opens his eyes. When Professor Lupin leaves the Great Hall, all is quiet again, and Darcy looks at Harry, who’s looking her. Darcy glances at her friends across the aisle; Gemma and Carla are fast asleep, curled up next to each other in their sleeping bags, but Emily is awake, staring up at the ceiling. 

A little while later, Madam Pomfrey comes hurrying in with a goblet in her hands. She rushes past sleeping students until she finally comes to Darcy. Darcy takes the goblet gladly, thanks her, and drinks it. Though the taste has never been good, Darcy swallows it like she would a shot of firewhiskey, smacking her lips and trying to get the taste off her tongue. Madam Pomfrey helps her down into her sleeping bag as Darcy’s world grows blurry around her, and within minutes, she’s fast asleep and her nightmares don’t haunt her.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20 chapters ?? here, have a long one in celebration of me getting 20 chapters into this story, because let's be real -- i thought i'd only get 6 chapters in and just abandon it

Darcy expects Peeves’s rendition of the Fat Lady’s story will die down within the week, but she is dead wrong.

Peeves frequently recounts the story to wary first years in the corridors, scaring them until older students come along to shoo him away. The poltergeist zooms away afterwards, albeit begrudgingly, cackling to himself, his laughter echoing off the walls and ringing in Darcy’s head. His tale grows taller and taller each time he tells it, and he soon has the first years spreading ridiculous tales about Sirius Black. However, Professor McGonagall puts a stop to it quick enough by threatening to go to Dumbledore and, after blowing several raspberries above her head for a long five minutes, he finally flies through the nearest wall and that puts an end to it.

Even Carla and Gemma’s new favorite pastime seems to be finding a way that Sirius Black could have broken into Hogwarts undetected. While Gemma’s theories are sometimes outlandish and absurd, her confidence in the idea that Sirius Black could not possibly attempt a break in again is infuriating. Although she doesn’t convince Carla, who takes on a more worried and cautious approach. Her theories, while not as wild as Gemma’s, are still quite far fetched and she begins to dote on Darcy like a mother would. Darcy finds the entire thing incredibly annoying, but she knows that her friends mean well, so she doesn’t say anything or try to put a stop to it.

What is worse than Gemma and Carla’s take on the entire situation is Emily’s take on it. She takes Harry’s and Professor Lupin’s side, claiming multiple times to Darcy’s face that something like this will never happen again and Dumbledore will make sure of it. This angers Darcy even more, and everytime she looks at Emily, rage burns inside of her.  _ She’s supposed to be my best friend _ , Darcy thinks, twisting her face into a sneer every time the thought crosses her mind. Emily, who hadn’t been in the Chamber of Secrets with her and Harry, who hadn’t seen the memory of Tom Riddle looking her in the eyes, who hadn’t seen the monster that lurked in Hogwarts halls for years without Dumbledore realizing it. Emily, who hadn’t had her brother almost killed by a teacher with Voldemort on the back of his head — a teacher that Dumbledore had allowed in the castle. Emily, who has never had to suffer through a nightmare of Sirius Black with his hands around her neck, who has never had to suffer through a dream of her parents getting murdered. Emily, who doesn’t understand and who could  _ never  _ understand. 

Emily’s blind faith in Dumbledore sets Darcy over the edge. She can’t understand how people — her  _ friends _ — can look her in the eyes and tell her that Hogwarts is the safest place in the world with Dumbledore as Headmaster, when her last two years (and now this year, as well) have been nothing but trouble, nothing but danger and fear. And all of this leaves her with two different conclusions — either Emily, Harry, and Professor Lupin are lying to her to make her feel better, or they truly believe that there is no danger at Hogwarts. And she can’t decide which one is worse.

But worst of all, worse than Emily’s false reassurances, is the fact that Darcy cannot be left alone anymore. It’s not just her — it’s Harry, as well — but it’s absolutely humiliating. Teachers follow her everywhere, from class to class, from lunch to the bathroom (where they stand outside the door and wait for her to finish as if Sirius Black is lurking through the school, waiting for a chance to pounce as soon as a teacher’s attention is diverted), from the bathroom to dinner, from dinner to Harry’s Quidditch practice (where Madam Hooch not only oversees practice for Harry’s benefit, but keeps a close eye on Darcy, as well), and back to her common room. Teachers are at her side every second of every minute she spends outside of her common room, the Great Hall, or one of her classrooms. Even with her friends beside her, teachers escort her quickly from place to place. And while she feels sorry for Harry having to go through the same thing, she’s glad that she isn’t alone in this. 

Professor McGonagall accompanies her around the castle the first day, and it really isn’t so terrible. Darcy and Emily feel they can still speak rather freely in her presence, and Professor McGonagall even jokes with Darcy and her friends from time to time. It’s then that Darcy realizes that maybe having extra protection may not be so horrible after all.

Tuesday, Professor Snape follows her around the castle, uncaring and apathetic, and making sure Darcy knows that if it were up to him, she wouldn’t get an honor guard. The entire day is filled with awkward silences, sideways glances, and the anxiety that only comes with the possibility of losing a lot of points for Gryffindor for absolutely no particular reason. Emily and Carla stay far away from her, as does Harry, but Gemma sticks it out and for once, Darcy is glad that Gemma is a Slytherin.

Wednesday, Professor Lupin escorts her from place to place, and Darcy feels a sense of freedom as Lupin walks by her side, talking to her as a friend would. Emily rarely speaks in his company, however, and she finds convenient excuses to go to the library, or the bathroom, or back to the common room. He doesn’t speak of Sirius Black either, which is a relief. Lupin smiles at students in the corridors, greets others, and ushers Darcy away from people who want to talk to her that she doesn’t want to. Though he looks weak — Darcy knows the full moon is very soon now — his charisma makes up for it.

That particular day, as Lupin walks Darcy back to her common room during a free period, Oliver Wood spills out of the portrait hole as Sir Cadogan shouts at his back, calling him names and making Darcy’s head pound. 

Five times she’s wanted to blast Sir Cadogan’s portrait this week, five times that he’s annoyed her so much. He changes the password so many times in a day that Darcy is left outside for ten minutes or more sometimes, and he always shouts and clanks around in his metal armor. If not for the fact that he’s the only portrait up for the job of taking over for the Fat Lady, his portrait would be destroyed by her hands already.

The three of them — or four, including Sir Cadogan — are quiet, and Oliver and Darcy stare at each other for a moment. Then, Oliver’s face breaks into the widest grin she’s ever seen.

“Hey, Darcy,” he says cheerfully, taking a few steps closer to her. He gets too close for comfort and Darcy takes two steps back, trodding on Lupin’s foot behind her. Oliver doesn’t seem to notice anything is amiss. “You’re coming to practice tonight, aren’t you?”

“To watch  _ Harry _ practice,” she replies, thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to miss one practice session. Besides, she thinks, the rain will make for a miserable time. “We’ve been over this before.”

“Right, well — er —” Oliver looks at Lupin with an apologetic smile. “Maybe if we could step inside the common room… just for a moment… it’s so hard to get you alone these days…”

Darcy narrows her eyes. “Just tell me now,” she tells him. “Surely whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of Professor Lupin.”

Oliver clears his throat and leans into her. This time, Darcy moves away wildly, actually falling into Professor Lupin, who catches her and keeps her steady. Oliver apologizes quietly, and puts his lips next to her ear, whispering, “Meet me in the bathroom tonight —  _ our _ bathroom. I need all the luck I can get before the match and the good luck charm between your legs will —”

Before Oliver Wood or Lupin know what’s happening, Darcy slaps Oliver across the face hard and he crumples. “All right, that’s enough —!” Lupin grabs her arm and holds her back as Oliver rises to his feet again, holding his cheek. Darcy can see an angry welt has started to form in the shape of a palm with slender fingers. Where her fingernails met his cheek, his skin has broken slightly, and Darcy knows there will be a nasty bruise there tomorrow. “Darcy, just go into —”

Darcy tears her arm from Lupin’s grip, taking two forceful steps towards Oliver, blinded by rage. “Do not  _ ever _ assume to proposition me again, Oliver Wood, do you understand me?” Darcy snaps. Oliver’s face turns bright red. “Just because I kissed you does  _ not _ mean that I am your girlfriend, and it also does  _ not _ mean that you can whisper crude things into my ear as you please!”

Ashamed, unable to meet her eyes, Oliver continues, looking at his feet and muttering. “You’ve been hanging around with Emily too much.”

Darcy scoffs, her hand itching to slap him again. “Emily has nothing to do with it,” she hisses. “I know my worth, and you certainly do not deserve me.”

Oliver brushes past Darcy, his broad shoulder colliding with her’s. She turns to watch him go and jumps, having forgotten about Professor Lupin. His face has gone just as red as Oliver’s had and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Darcy suddenly feels warm. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I guess I got a little carried away.” She holds up her right hand and it trembles, numb after slapping Oliver.

“Darcy, I — I could have given him a detention,” Lupin suggests. 

“That was more satisfying,” she admits, shrugging her shoulders, laughing nervously. The sight of Lupin blushing makes her smile. He looks as if he's a young boy again, caught doing something unseemly. “I feel much better now that I’ve hit someone.”

Lupin promises not to tell anyone.

The Invisibility Cloak becomes a treasure for both Darcy and Harry, and they begin to fight over it more often. She knows that Harry is only looking for some peace and quiet, but she wants that, too. The one time she is able to steal away underneath the cloak in the dead of night, she goes up to the owlery, but the wintery, night wind is bitter cold and the rain is loud, and with Max out delivering a letter to Mr. Weasley, she finds no comfort there. Even Hedwig acts cold towards her, pecking at Darcy’s fingers like worms until they’re bleeding and numb again.

She’d written the letter to Mr. Weasley the day after Sirius Black stole into Hogwarts. Around three in the morning that night, unable to sleep despite the warmth of her bed, she had lit the tip of her wand, held it between her teeth, and scribbled on a torn piece of parchment. She had only meant for it to be a short thing, a plea for help, a plea for him to visit — a plea for something to give her some kind of comfort. Instead, she’d ended up writing him two pages, front and back, of what had happened according to Peeves and how the Headmaster had taken such drastic measures to protect her and Harry. After she finished, she had read it over three times, accepting the childish and desperate manner that it was written in. Even now, part of her hopes that the childlike part of it will appeal to Mr. Weasley as a father.

Friday night, Harry and Darcy stay up late together in the common room, sitting by the fire while the storm rages outside. Rain lashes against the windows, lightening brightening the sky before the thunder cracks, nearly shaking the castle. Crookshanks, Hermione’s fierce cat, stretches out over Darcy’s legs, laying on his back. She absentmindedly scratches his stomach, feeling the vibrations of his purrs. It calms her.

“How long will this go on, do you think?” she asks Harry. When he doesn’t answer, she sighs. “I can’t do this. I won’t have them following me for the rest of the year.”

“Are you still afraid of Sirius Black?” 

Darcy looks at Harry, leaning back into the couch as Crookshanks crawls up her chest to perch on the top of the couch. He nuzzles into her hair, his long fur stroking her cheek. Darcy continues to scratch under his chin. The stress of everything else had gotten to her lately, and Sirius Black had been the least of her worries. “I mean — of course, but…” she shrugs. “There’s been a lot going on lately.”

“I heard what you did to Oliver Wood,” he chuckles. “He didn’t say why you did it, but I’m sure you had good reason. So did the rest of the team.”

Darcy smiles weakly. “He said some disgusting things,” she tells him. “Things I don’t want to hear outloud ever again.”

“I’ll be sure to pass it along to the rest of the team.”

“No,” she says. Crookshanks rubs his face against her’s as soon as she stops petting him. “Don’t embarrass him. He’s already going to be playing tomorrow with a hand on his face.”

“Not like anyone will see it through the rain.” Harry reaches out to pet Crookshanks, but the cat spits at him, jumping off the couch and running up the stairs towards the dormitories. “I’m worried about you. Your nightmares, your late night flying practice, slapping Oliver —”

“You’re always worried about me,” she laughs, ruffling his hair. “And what do I always say?”

“I know, I know —”

“What do I say?”

“That I shouldn’t worry about you,” he finishes, smiling. His smile is contagious, and Darcy smiles back at him fondly. 

“You used to worry about me,” she recalls, the smile fading from her face. “When you were younger. I don’t know if you remember — you were so young. My nightmares were coming back, and I’d cry out and thrash in bed.” Those nights had been embarrassing and shameful nights. In the mornings following a nightmare, Vernon would shout at her in front of Aunt Petunia, Dudley, and Harry, shaming her for being so weak. “You’d hear me, though, and you’d sneak into my bedroom and crawl into bed with me.”

“I remember.”

“I’d sleep too hard and you’d think I was dead,” she continues. “I would skip a meal I didn’t care for and you’d think I was starving or sick. I’d be gone for a few hours and you’d cry when I came back and you’d tell me it was because you were so happy to see me.” Darcy feels like crying, remembering a time when Harry had worshipped the ground she walked on, remembering a time when Harry had loved her more than anything. “I admire you, Harry, but it’s my job to worry about you, not the other way around.”

There’s a comfortable silence between them as they look into the fire. 

“Get some rest, Harry. You’ve got a big game tomorrow.”

Darcy prays for better weather that weekend, but it’s in vain. The rain falls harder and heavier for the game, the wind stronger and louder than ever. The sky is plagued with frequent flashes of lightning and thunder claps several seconds afterwards, growing closer all the while. She attends the game with Emily, Ron, and Hermione clad in red and gold colors, hoods pulled up over their heads, holding large umbrellas. Despite that, the rain soaks them on their way to the Quidditch field (Professor McGonagall makes sure to see Darcy there safely). A little behind Darcy and her friends are Carla and Gemma. Carla wears as much yellow and black as she can find to support her House, and Gemma, who had been looking forward to Slytherin playing, refuses to cheer for Gryffindor, deciding that she’ll support Hufflepuff instead.

The Quidditch game is a massive disaster, as the players can’t see where they’re going, nor can they hear anything. Even Darcy is deaf to the commentary over the screams and cheers and the storm. She can’t see the Quaffle, neither of the bludgers, and she especially can’t see the Snitch. Through Hermione’s borrowed binoculars, she tries to find Harry on his broom, but he’s too quick on his broomstick and she continues to lose him.

However, the cheers of the Gryffindors encourage her. Gryffindor cheers much more than the Hufflepuffs, and Darcy hears Lee Jordan’s voice boom throughout the air when Gryffindor scores a goal that she hadn’t been able to see. Finally, Darcy finds Harry in the air again, circling around the field and looking for the Snitch. 

“He can’t see anything through his glasses —” Darcy mutters to Hermione, handing her back the binoculars, but Hermione slips away from her as Oliver Wood calls for timeout.

“This is miserable…” Emily groans. “I can’t see a thing! This whole thing will be a huge waste of time if we lose!”

“We won’t lose!” Ron counters. “Harry’ll catch the Snitch! He always does.”

After the Quidditch game resumes, Hermione appears back at Darcy’s side, beaming. Darcy pushes her wet hair off her face, but it sticks to her drenched skin. “Harry can see now!” she says, and leaves it at that.

The storm continues to rage as the match goes on. Gryffindor keeps scoring, but Hufflepuff keeps up with them, narrowing the margin only to have Gryffindor score some more. Emily puts the binoculars to her eyes, looking at all of the players, watching Harry fly around the field with a newfound confidence, watching Cedric Diggory — Hufflepuff’s Seeker — follow him closely. The sky grows darker, the lightning comes quicker, and the thunder sounds louder.

“Why’s he stopping —?” Emily asks, but Darcy grabs the binoculars and looks for herself.

Harry doesn’t stop for long, and as soon as Darcy finds him again, he moves swiftly and gracefully through the rain. She watches him for a little while until something makes the hairs on her arms stand up, and a chill creeps up her spine, her stomach turning. Lowering the binoculars, Darcy feels the cold wash over her, coldness not due to rain or to winter — coldness due to one thing, and one thing only.  _ No _ , she pleads silently,  _ no, no, no, not here, not now, please... _

She looks down at the bottom of the field and she freezes, panic overcoming her. Dementors — hundreds of them — are crowding the field, making the grass look like a sea of blackness, pure darkness. At the sight of them, Darcy’s world stops. The sounds around her dissolve, her own breath and heartbeat the only things she can hear. All around her, the stands are suddenly empty and the cold rain showers down upon her, warm compared to the chill of the dementors. She closes her eyes.

And then — kisses, on her forehead, on her nose, on her lips; green light and the thud of something on the floor, her mother’s body crumpling before her very eyes; her mother’s face, so beautiful and so kind and so loving, so frozen and stiff, green eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling; high-pitched laughter and a crying, tears staining her pink cheeks, her hand holding onto Harry’s tiny arm so tightly that she knows he’ll have bruises on his soft, milky skin the next morning —

Screaming brings her back to her senses. Darcy comes back to reality so violently that she almost vomits, but someone is falling through the air and people are pointing and Dumbledore’s wand is out, pointing towards the body, his booming voice echoing incoherently. And Darcy knows who’s falling, knows whose small body that is sailing down towards earth, towards the hard and unforgiving ground, and the dementors are scattering, almost gone completely from the field as something silver chases them down — a Patronus — Dumbledore’s Patronus. 

Darcy scrambles over her fellow Gryffindors, screaming herself hoarse, screaming her brother’s name as she climbs down the tall spectators stand to reach Harry. Before she can even reach the field, someone grabs hold of her, but through her tears and through the rain, she can’t tell who it is. Dumbledore is making his way down to Harry quickly, but not as quickly as Darcy would like, and whoever is holding her arms holds on tighter as she squirms.

“He’s all right,” they whisper, and Darcy knows it’s one of the Weasley twins, but she isn’t able to tell which one it is without looking him in the face. “He’s all right, look — Dumbledore’s got him — it’s all right, Darcy —”

“Harry!” she shrieks, fighting against the twin’s hold. “Please! Harry!  _ Harry _ !”

_ If Sirius Black or the dementors don’t kill him, Quidditch will _ . She looks on helplessly as her little brother lies on the wet grass, where only a moment ago there had been hundreds of dementors. Dementors that had no reason to be on the field, that never should have been near Harry in the first place, that should never have been stationed at Hogwarts to begin with. 

Dumbledore gets Harry on a stretcher and it floats him up to the castle. Darcy breaks free of the twin’s grip, running to his side, and Dumbledore doesn’t protest. Madam Hooch is rushing along beside them, as well as Professor McGonagall, looking quite worried. She follows them all the way up to the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey allows her to stay while she forces a potion down his throat to help with the aches when he wakes, and checks to make sure no bones are broken, and making sure that all his bones are still there.

Madam Pomfrey lets Darcy have a moment with Harry alone, despite him not being awake. Darcy only registers half of what Madam Pomfrey says, ignores Dumbledore completely as he leaves her with Harry, and barely feels Professor McGonagall touch her shoulder as a farewell before she too leaves the hospital wing. She only sits there on the bed, looking down at Harry, her baby brother. Darcy brushes his hair out of his face, traces his lightning bolt scar with the tips of her fingers. His breathing is steady, and he looks to be unhurt save for a few scratches on his face, but he doesn’t respond to her touch or her voice and all she wants to do is cry, but she refuses to do that in front of the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Darcy kisses Harry on the forehead, squeezes his hand, and stands. Madam Pomfrey walks her to the doors and shouts at Harry’s other friends to move aside for her. They’re all soaking wet, just like her, frightened and traumatized and slump-shouldered. Emily stands off to the side, her arms wrapped around her, water dripping from her long coat and pooling at her feet. Her face is colorless, and her blonde hair sticks to her forehead. Ron and Hermione stand in front of her, just as afraid, and the rest of the Quidditch team — except for Oliver, who’s nowhere to be found — begin to rush into the hospital wing, ignoring Madam Pomfrey’s pleas for them to stay calm.

“Is he going to be okay?”

The only person who hasn’t gone in is Emily, and she stays frozen to the spot. Darcy looks her friend over and nods. “He’ll be fine,” she rasps. “Madam Pomfrey has healed worse things.”

Emily smiles weakly, hesitating. She swallows hard. “There were so many of them…” she whispers. “I  _ saw _ things…”

Darcy can’t imagine what Emily may have seen or heard, but she finds it hard to sympathize with Emily after what’s just happened.  _ Did you watch your mother get murdered in front of you _ ? “What did you see?” Darcy asks, feeling ashamed after the words leave her mouth.

“Memories I thought I’d forgotten,” Emily answers. “Things that happened a long time ago, that I have no wish to speak of right now.” She combs her hair back with her fingers and Darcy notices her eyes are red. “Don’t think I don’t know what you saw. I know that what the dementors do to me is not half as bad as what they do to you.”

Darcy softens. “You should be thankful that you don’t have to relive what I do,” she says. “I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.”

“Let’s go back to the common room, please,” Emily begs. “Let’s sit by the fire and warm ourselves.”

“I’m sorry, Emily,” she sighs. “Give me a few minutes.”

Emily nods and wraps her coat around her tighter, heading for the stairs alone. As Darcy watches her ascend, she looks around her and is struck with a sudden realization — she’s  _ alone _ . There are no teachers around to shuffle her towards the common room or the Great Hall, no one to bother her or talk to her or ask her questions. Even though she can go anywhere that she wants, Darcy can’t choose just one place and stays still for a few minutes, tears welling up in her eyes as she thinks of Harry, thinking hard about what to do with this freedom, knowing it may only last a little while.

Her feet move on their own, carrying her to a closed door a little ways away from the hospital wing. She stands in front of it for a long time, her hand on the doorknob, trying to convince herself to open it. And finally, she does, only because she’s so cold that she craves movement to keep herself warm. 

The classroom is so still and untouched that it’s like walking in a dream, or a photograph. Candles burn in a few sconces on the walls, giving the classroom the slightest bit of light. Without the sun shining through the windows, the room is bleak and sad, but still a thousand times better than the hospital wing. The Grindylow in its tank is hiding from her, silent as can be, but Darcy can feel its eyes watching her. With each step, her shoes squeak and make ugly squelching noises against the floor. She lowers her hood, not realizing that she still had it up over her head. Not that it helped any — her hair is still as wet as if she’d just got out of the bath. 

When she reaches the second door to his office, she knocks, unsure of what she’ll find behind it. He doesn’t call out, nor does she hear him shuffling around inside. Assuming that it’s locked, Darcy tries the handle anyway, and to her surprise, the door opens, squeaking on its hinges. The office is empty, cluttered, smelling strongly of tea. She wrinkles her nose and closes the door behind her, staring at the stone wall where the hidden door to the apartment is. She shrugs off her wet coat, letting it fall to the ground.

Darcy sits in the chair at his desk, resting her elbows on the top and holding her head in her hands and closing her eyes again. All she can do is cry, thinking about Sirius Black and Harry almost falling to his death and her seeing her mother’s lifeless figure all because of the dementors that Dumbledore stationed there — dementors that couldn’t even stop Sirius Black from getting into the castle. 

“Who’s th — Darcy?”

Darcy hadn’t even heard the door open behind her, hadn’t heard his footsteps coming to her. Strong hands take hold of her arms and his touch warms her in the same way chocolate can after meeting a dementor. He helps her to her feet, slowly, holding her out at arms length in front of him. Darcy looks at his face and feels overwhelmingly guilty. He’s disheveled and weary, but concern crosses his face at the sight of her tears. 

“You’re soaking wet — what’s happened?” 

Darcy only cries harder, trying to explain everything through her sobs. But Lupin can’t make out anything she’s saying and he looks at her, his eyebrows furrowed. As she starts to calm down, she briefly tells him about the Quidditch match, about the dementors, about Harry, about seeing her mother die again. And then, everything comes pouring out and she can’t stop it; the words fall from her mouth before she can even think of what she’s saying. Incoherent words mingled with sobs and recollections about the last two years of her life in broken bits and pieces is what Lupin gets, but he doesn’t say a word while she’s speaking, listening intently. “I never wanted this —” she finishes, pushing her hair out of her face again. “I never asked for this — this life — who I am — I never wanted this —”

Lupin studies her face, dumbfounded. He hesitates, only for a fraction of a second, and then pulls Darcy to his chest. She falls into him, burying her face into his sweater, feeling lightheaded and weak and unsteady on her own legs. Darcy shifts, and she can feel the scruff on his face against her skin, the warmth of his cheek on her forehead. One of his hands smooths back her hair, the other holding her close. And as quickly as he had pulled her to him, he releases her, but keeps one hand on her back. 

“Let’s get you dry,” he says, ushering her into his chambers. “I just started a fire — I have blankets, and I know you like hot cocoa.”  


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm so sorry for any errors, but it's late and I'm way too tired (lazy) to proofread and I'm way too happy (relieved) to be posting another chapter

Lupin dries Darcy’s clothing with ease, waving his wand around her a few times, but he can’t warm her bones. The dementors had left a coldness in her chest that doesn’t go away, even standing before a warm fire with a hot mug of cocoa in her hands. Still, she shivers uncontrollably. He drapes a heavy blanket over her shoulders, which is comforting, but doesn’t help. It isn’t until he urges her to eat just a bite of chocolate that the warmth spreads through her and she stops shivering and some color returns to her face. Sniffling, Darcy recounts to Lupin everything that’s happened, finally able to speak without sobbing. He sits on the couch with her, facing her and sipping at the drink in his mug, occasionally glancing into the dancing flames. She tells him of the storm and how Quidditch should have been cancelled (though she never expected it to be in the first place), of the dementors that had swarmed the grounds, of Harry falling from his broomstick and Dumbledore saving him, of Cedric Diggory catching the Snitch so Hufflepuff emerged victorious without them even realizing what had happened.

Unable to stop herself, faltering under his gaze, Darcy tells him  _ everything _ . She tells him of her fifth year — of Quirrel, and the troll in the bathroom, the three-headed dog that Hagrid had named Fluffy, the human chess match they’d played, the Sorcerer’s Stone. She recalls the fear that she’d felt knowing that Voldemort had come here, to Hogwarts, and was here for an entire year before anyone found out. She tells him how she’d stayed by Harry’s side day and night until he finally woke up and how she had cried tears of joy and relief when his eyes fluttered open to look at her.

She recounts her previous year — being denied entry to Platform 9 ¾, driving the car into the Whomping Willow, Lockhart, Harry’s ability to speak to snakes and the writing on the walls in blood. She talks of Hermione being petrified, Aragog in the Forbidden Forest, Ginny being dragged into the Chamber of Secrets. Darcy remembers the basilisk, and the memory of young, handsome Tom Riddle, staring her in the face. The nightmares had come back in full force after leaving the Chamber of Secrets, and she had thrashed in bed like a fish out of water for the entire summer. She tells Lupin of her nightmares frightening Emily’s parents so badly, they thought she was possessed by something and were wary of her after that.

Thinking back to the Chamber of Secrets, Darcy recalls it as if it were only yesterday. She can clearly remember the look of the place — dank and damp, full of statues resembling serpents, half crumbling and cracked. There had been plenty of dark places hidden around the maze of pipes and sewers that the basilisk could move easily through. But the smell she remembers most of all, even now — the smell of death and decay, corpses of rats and other small animals littering the floor around her feet. Bones crunching with each step, she had forced herself not to look down because looking down could mean seeing a skull or bones that were not animals. 

Darcy faces the fire and closes her eyes. Just like at the Quidditch match, everything around her fades away. All the sounds, the smells. She hasn’t thought about the Chamber of Secrets for some time. Those nightmares had faded when the new dreams came along over the summer, and she was so thankful at first. Thankful that she was done dreaming of Voldemort and the basilisk and the eerie stillness of the Chamber of Secrets. But now she’s there again, and Tom Riddle is there, standing in front of her — tall, lanky, brown of hair and brown of eyes, eyes that seem almost black, extending a hand with long fingers that aren’t quite the color of human flesh. She sees Ginny on the floor, just a little girl, dying as Tom Riddle steals away her strength, her  _ life _ . And then, ringing in her ears is the sound of the piercing shriek Voldemort lets out as Harry stabs the diary with the basilisk fang, bleeding terribly from a puncture wound to his arm. Voldemort’s screams are deafening, and she shuts her eyes tighter, trying to block it out, tighter, tighter —

“Darcy!” 

Her eyes snap open, and everything comes back. Rain lashes against the few windows, and the fire is so warm on her face, the blanket heavy around her shoulders. Her heart is racing, pounding in her ears, and Lupin’s gripping her arm tight, shaking her slightly, his face pale. Thinking about the Chamber of Secrets makes her feel as if spiders are crawling all over her body, up her arms, down her legs, on every inch of exposed skin. She reaches up and brushes the back of her neck, but there are no spiders, only stray pieces of hair that tickle her skin. Darcy looks at Lupin again and he lets go of her warily, holding out his hands as if she’s about to fall over.

“I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly, her cheeks turning pink. “I — I don’t know what —”

“Are you all right?” he asks, cutting her off. 

“Yes,” she answers. “I’m sorry.”

Lupin settles back into the couch slowly, watching her warily all the while. “Don’t be sorry,” he replies. “I just — you scared me, that’s all.”

Darcy looks away from him, clutching her mug of hot cocoa. “I know what you must be thinking —”

Lupin cocks an eyebrow, and to her surprise, he smiles. “What do you think I’m thinking?”

She searches his face, trying to find an answer written on it. He waits patiently, still smiling at her — that cool, easy smile of his, the smile he always flashes her when they pass each other in the corridors, when their eyes meet in the Great Hall during meals, when they look at each other during a lecture, when they’re alone in his office. She’s grown so used to seeing the smile on his face that she’s forgotten how warm it is, how comforting it is, especially during a time like this. Remembering what Gemma had said, Darcy wonders it would be like to kiss him, to feel that smile against her own lips as he kisses her back.

Darcy takes a moment to look him over, to really look at him as if for the first time. He looks older in the days before and after a full moon, but Darcy knows that in a few days, he’ll be himself again, after some well needed rest. The firelight does a good enough job concealing the gray streaks in his hair, and he’s shaved recently enough that she can’t see any sign of age in the rough stubble on his face. Darcy’s always thought him handsome, the premature lines on his face making him look somewhat hardened, the faded pink scars on his face giving the impression that he’s lived a long, hard life.

“Darcy?” Lupin says again, catching her attention. She blinks a few times. “Where are you?”

She laughs at herself softly, looking away from his face. “Sorry, I’m just thinking.” Darcy looks down into her mug and takes a drink; her hot cocoa has gone lukewarm. The wind has picked up outside and she can hear it howling in the night. Darcy puts her mug on the table in front of her, and then tucks her legs underneath her, looking at Lupin and inhaling deeply. “When will it end? How much longer will I have to suffer?”

Lupin frowns. “The suffering never ends,” he says quietly, but that only makes Darcy wants to cry. “But you learn to live with it.”

His tone is bitter enough to make Darcy flinch. There’s pain in it, true suffering, and Darcy realizes that Lupin understands her, in the way that she wishes Emily could but never will. “How old were you?” she whispers. “When you were bitten?”

Lupin tenses and clears his throat. He chews on his lower lip, rubbing at his jaw and scratching at the coarse hair on his face. She doesn’t think he’s going to answer — he sits still and quiet for a long time, or what seems like a long time. And then — “Four. I was four.” It’s as if a weight has been lifted off his chest. He exhales loudly and runs a hand through his hair.

“Four,” she repeats softly.  _ Four _ . The same age she had been when her mother was murdered before her very eyes. The same age she’d been when he tried to kill Harry. Four was the age she’d been when her life changed forever. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine what you —”

“You can’t imagine?” Lupin retorts, not unkindly. “Darcy, you suffered a terrible tragedy —”

“I only lost my parents,” she argues. “You were bitten, turned into a werewolf —”

“But you haven’t only lost your parents,” he says. “Do not think that because I’m a werewolf — because I, too, have known suffering — I don’t understand what you’ve been through. I understand the hardships you’ve faced, the burden that was placed on your shoulders. I admire you for it, and I have a great deal of respect for you, Darcy, but you shouldn’t sell yourself short.” 

Darcy is quiet. Even though their talk of tragedies and suffering should make her feel bad, his words are comforting. She listens patiently, smiling at him weakly.

“The world has been cruel to us, love,” he continues. “We must carry our suffering and our burdens wherever we go. Life will never be simple for people like you and me.”

She stares at him incredulously. She swallows the lump in her throat and sits up straighter. “If I tell you something, I want you to promise me that you won’t think any differently of me.”

“You have my word, Darcy.”

She hesitates. Lupin waits for her to speak, fingering the lip of his empty mug.  _ I have to be careful _ , she thinks,  _ or I may tell him everything _ . His face is so easy to look at while spilling out the truths of her life, and just having him near is enough. She remembers how hard it had been to tell Emily everything, how frightened she was when telling her the truths of her life. Emily had looked at her with a shocked expression, a disbelieving expression, when some things were mentioned. At first, there had been no secrets between Darcy and Emily, but now she finds it hard to talk about things with her.  _ But he understands _ , she tells herself.  _ There is nothing I wouldn’t tell him _ . 

“I remember being brought to Privet Drive,” she starts, very slowly. The fire has started to die down, but Lupin makes no move to fix it. “Ushered to this house by strangers, sent to live with people I didn’t know. I don’t have many memories from that age, but I remember I was… distraught, and grieving in a way only a four year old can grieve. 

“But I remember getting older, and with each passing day that I had to look upon that scar on Harry’s head — every diaper I changed, every meal I had to feed him, every time he cried and screamed for no reason — I hated him more and more. I blamed him for my parents death, blamed him for the loss of my home. I blamed him for everything and I resented him and hated him with all that I had, but I knew that Harry had no one but me. Every time Vernon would shout at me or hurt me, it only nursed my hatred for Harry because I felt it was his fault that I was in this position.” Tears well up in Darcy’s eyes and she rubs them with her knuckles. “But as Harry got older, and as he grew, he loved me. He depended on me, needed me, looked at me like a son looks at his mother. For a long time, he wouldn’t sleep unless he was next to me.”

Lupin’s eyebrows are furrowed as he listens intently, leaning forward slightly. 

“And then one night, Harry came to my bedroom complaining of a nightmare. He crawled in bed with me and curled up at my side and I was just overwhelmed with love for him,” she admits. “I spent six years of my life hating Harry because I didn’t know how to handle my grief. I knew it wasn’t his fault, he never asked for this, and it was exhausting to be so angry and so hateful. After that, life was so much simpler.” Darcy smiles incredulously, and she starts to cry again. “I love my brother. I would lay down my life for him — I would starve if it meant he could eat, I would die if it meant he could live.”

“I know.”

She watches him, expecting something else. It’s then that she realizes her hands are trembling, and she’s thankful there’s no mirror around because Darcy is sure that she looks something terrible. “I’ve never told anyone that before,” she whispers. “But that… I carry that knowledge with me everyday. To know that once, I looked at my brother and felt nothing but hatred.”

“Darcy —” Lupin thinks for a moment. He raises a hand, holding it awkwardly between them for half a second, and then he rubs the back of his neck. “You were young and didn’t know how to handle your grief. You went through a traumatic experience alone, and no one would blame you for how you felt.”

She’s quiet for a little bit. They both look into the fire as it dies, stealing glances at each other. The third time Darcy looks at Lupin, she finds him looking back at her and Darcy blushes, noticing Lupin’s cheeks turn pink. Finally, she clears her throat and asks, “Will you walk me to the hospital wing? I’d like to see Harry.”

“Will I —?” Lupin tilts his head. “Ah, right. What god awful professor left you alone tonight?”

Lupin escorts Darcy down the cold, dark corridors slowly. When they reach the hospital wing, they linger outside the closed doors. He leans against one of the doors, crossing his arms. “There is one more thing before I leave you,” he tells her. “If you’d like, I may have some free time this week for dinner.”

“Really?” She grins, and Lupin nods. “I’d love that.”

He laughs out loud, his laugh echoing throughout the empty corridor. “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone to get so excited about having dinner with me.” Lupin stands up straight and puts a hand on the doorknob. “You’re a flatterer, Darcy. What was it I told you before?”

“Flattery will get me nowhere,” she chuckles. 

“You’re absolutely right.”

Madam Pomfrey allows Darcy in right away and she bids Professor Lupin goodnight. Madam Pomfrey doesn’t ask why she’s out so late, or why she’s with Lupin, only walks her to Harry’s side. Her brother is awake, pieces of splintered wood at his side. The matron leaves them alone, retreating to her office, and Darcy combs his dark hair back out of his face, exposing the scar on his forehead.

“I was wondering where you were,” he says. “Hermione and Ron only left a little bit ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she replies, sitting on the bed. “I came while you were still unconscious, but I just needed some time.”

Harry nods. “Okay.”

“How are you feeling?” Darcy asks, taking his hand into her’s. “I was so worried about you.”

His voice cracks. “My broomstick —”

Darcy’s eyes fall on the splintered wood beside him and her heart sinks. “Oh, Harry…” she sighs. “I’m so sorry. We’ll get you a new one, a better one.”

Holding onto one of the bigger pieces, Harry shrugs his shoulders, and Darcy knows that he’s hurting. He looks up at her, and the pain on his face breaks her heart. “All those dementors — Darcy, I heard her again. Mum.” He lowers his voice. “Is this what it’s like for you? Every night, hearing her?”

She hesitates, not wanting to scare him, but she nods. “Harry, Madam Pomfrey will set you right and you won’t have to worry about —”

“There’s something else,” he interrupts, not having heard a single word she said. Darcy narrows her eyes. “I didn’t know who to tell, but…”

“What is it?”

Harry looks over his shoulder towards Madam Pomfrey’s office, but her door is closed. “Do you remember the night we left Privet Drive?” he whispers. “That dog was there — do you remember?”

“Yes,” she replies warily, unsure of where he’s going with this.

“I saw it, at the Quidditch match,” he continues quickly. “It was the same dog, I swear, but — Darcy, I think it’s… well, the Grim.”

Darcy stares at him, waiting for a punchline, for him to add something, but he doesn’t. She bursts out laughing, a hearty laugh. She keeps laughing until Harry frowns and she stops, realizing that he isn’t joking. “Harry, the Grim isn’t real,” she scoffs. “Did Professor Trelawney tell you about that?”

He rolls his eyes. “Everything gets around this school so quickly —”

“No one told me. My third year, Emily and I took Divination and Professor Trelawney saw the Grim in my tea leaves. All she did was predict how I was going to die a horrible, untimely death. And she was wrong — I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Darcy squeezes his hand. “You just saw a dog, not the Grim.”

“That doesn’t make it any less weird,” he protests. “Why would a dog be at my Quidditch match in the pouring rain? The  _ same _ dog we saw on Privet Drive?”

Darcy releases his hand and exhales, nodding. It is weird, she can’t deny that, but Harry’s theory that it was the Grim is ridiculous, and she’s had enough ridiculous tales in the past week. “It was the dementors — you were seeing things —”

“You don’t believe me?”

She opens and closes her mouth, searching for comforting words, but she doesn’t know what to say. For once, Darcy’s at a loss for words. Is it possible he did see a dog at the match? She hadn’t seen one, and to her knowledge, neither did any of her friends. Darcy makes a mental note to ask Carla and Gemma if they recall a black dog. “Of course I believe you,” she murmurs. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

Darcy puts both hands on her brother’s cheeks, kissing the top of his head. He doesn’t object. “You’ve been crying,” he notes.

“I’ve been worried about you.” She ruffles his hair. “I love you, Harry.”

“I love you, too.”

“I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.”

“Is there anything you need? Anything I can get for you?”

“No,” he answers. “I’m fine. I wouldn’t be here if Madam Pomfrey didn’t force me to be. You know how she is —”

“I heard that!” Madam Pomfrey snaps, making both Darcy and Harry jump. “I only have your best interests at heart and you Potters’ put so much stress on me sometimes that I don’t know  _ what  _ to do with you.” She stands beside Darcy, but instead of looking angry, she’s smiling at them both. “No more accidents, or I may just have a heart attack. Now, off to bed with you, Miss Potter — I have a patient to treat.”


	22. Chapter 22

Emily is still awake when Darcy sneaks into the dormitory. The other girls are fast asleep, as usual. Darcy crawls under the blankets of her bed without undressing and sighs loudly, relishing the feel of her soft mattress. She closes her eyes, preparing herself for sleep, but Emily doesn’t let her.

“Where were you?” she hisses. “You said to just give you a few minutes. I didn’t expect you to be gone all night.”

“Okay, mum,” Darcy scoffs, her eyes still closed. “Can’t I just sulk and not be questioned for it for once?”

“You’re always sulking.”

“Fair point.”

“You were with him again, weren’t you?” Emily whispers. “Professor Lupin?”

Darcy’s eyes open quickly and she glances around the dormitory, but no one stirs. She sits up, suddenly paranoid, but then she relaxes and looks at Emily. _I shouldn’t be afraid of someone hearing_ , she thinks. _We were only talking_. “No,” she lies, but Darcy isn’t sure why she does. It’s not like Emily doesn’t already know, and if she hadn’t, Darcy’s pitiful lie gives it away. “No, I wasn’t. I was with Harry. Go on and ask him.” But she knows that if Emily does ask him — and she will — there is still a gap of a few hours from when Darcy and Emily parted ways until she was with Harry.

“You act like you’re all alone here,” Emily replies, rolling over in her bed so her back faces Darcy. “You have friends, you know. Yet you’re more than willing to push us aside for him.”

“Emily,” Darcy says, laughing softly. “That’s — that is _not_ true. I haven’t pushed anyone aside for him. We’ve been best friends for seven years. I wouldn’t just push you away that easily.”

But Emily doesn’t answer. Darcy slides back down under her covers and slips into dreams. While it’s a relief for her to not dream of her parents and Voldemort, her dreams about Lupin are sometimes equally disturbing. The Lupin in her dreams is a werewolf, frightening and aggressive, tearing at her flesh and biting her everywhere that he can reach. Her shoulder twinges often, waking her briefly a few times. After waking for a third time close to dawn, she thinks of the Lupin that she knows — the Lupin that listens to her, that understands her, that comforts her when she’s hurting. And when she falls asleep again, it’s not Lupin the werewolf tearing at her skin, but Lupin the man — her friend — and she can feel the scratch of coarse hair against her face, against her neck —

That dream, while not terrifying, is just as unsettling as the others, Darcy decides, and she finds it hard to look him in the eyes when they pass each other on their way to breakfast the next morning.

When Max soars into the Great Hall at breakfast, Darcy’s heart soars. Tied around one leg is a letter from Mr. Weasley, and she unties it quickly. Max hops onto Darcy’s shoulder, nuzzling against her. She strokes his feathers, tickles him under his beak, and lets him have some of her breakfast that she’s already finished with. When he finishes with that, Max tries to go for Emily’s food, but she takes her plate away.

“No!” she snaps, pointing a stern finger at him. Max watches her with wide eyes, and they stare at each other for a long moment until Emily gives in and pushes her plate towards the owl, letting him eat the rest of her sausages. “You stupid, spoiled bird.” He seems to understand what she’s saying and pecks at her fingers before returning to her leftovers.

Darcy reads the letter to herself.

_Darcy,_

_I know things are hard, but it’s your last year and you’ll have all the freedom you long for. Trust your professors, and trust Professor Dumbledore’s judgement on things such as these. He only wants what’s best for you and Harry, and he wants to keep you safe, even if it may not seem like it at times. You have nothing to fear with Dumbledore keeping a close eye on you._

_You know you are always welcome at our home, and I know you won’t like what I’m going to tell you, but I think it best for you to stay with Harry at Hogwarts this year for Christmas. I may be able to make a quick trip to Hogsmeade over break, so keep an eye out for my owl. The Ministry has need of every capable witch and wizard right now with Sirius Black still on the loose, but I’ll see what I can do. I’ll correspond with Dumbledore in the meantime about it._

_Please stay safe and don’t do anything rash._

_With love,_

_Mr. Weasley_

She had hoped the letter would lift her spirits, but Mr. Weasley’s letter offers little comfort. She crumples it in her hand as Emily opens the paper. Darcy continues to stroke Max and he rests against her chest. “Anything interesting?” she asks Emily absentmindedly.

“Nothing,” Emily replies. “Not a single thing about Sirius Black. But there is someone looking for an owl.” She peers at Max from around the edge of the paper. Max looks back at her and Darcy wraps an arm around him protectively, but he squirms out of her grip and flies off through the window. “It was only a joke.”

It’s then that Darcy remembers what Harry had said the previous night, and she turns to face Emily. “Did you see a dog at the Quidditch match?”

“A dog?” Emily looks bewildered. “I didn’t see much of anything, but I think I would have noticed a dog. Why?”

“It’s nothing,” Darcy says. “Just wondering.”

When Darcy leaves the Great Hall for the hospital wing, she stops at the threshold of the tall doors, turning back at the teachers’ table. She hesitates, waiting for one of them to come running to her, to insist escorting her somewhere, but no one so much as looks at her. Quickly, she slips out of the Great Hall and makes her way down the corridor, Mr. Weasley’s letter still clutched in her hand. She stuffs it in her pocket, and goes to open the doors of the hospital wing, but someone else opens them first and Darcy finds herself face to face with Oliver Wood, looking sullen.

The handprint on his cheek has bruised badly, leaving him with a slight black eye and the clear outline of four fingers on his skin. Though she knows Oliver Wood, and she knows that the handprint is nothing to him compared to their recent defeat against Hufflepuff. “Hi, Darcy,” he says, with little enthusiasm.

Darcy nods, raising her eyebrows and trying to move past him. Oliver’s body blocks her from entering, and she crosses her arms, waiting for him to move.

“I just —” he sighs deeply, looking her in the eyes. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean to — I thought we had a good time and I just —” He mutters something under his breath that Darcy can’t understand, but she understands enough. She can see that it’s near painful for him to apologize to her, and she stops him.

“It’s all right,” she says. “You caught me at a bad time, and I — I shouldn’t have hit you. I’m sorry, too.” Oliver looks pathetic standing before her, and she can’t help but feel sorry for him. “If it’s any consolation, I did have a good time in Hogsmeade with you.”

Oliver scoffs. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” he shrugs. “You went with Lupin quick enough.”

Darcy flushes a deep red. “No, it’s not — I mean, I couldn’t really refuse, could I?”

He laughs softly. “Friends?”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Friends.”

“If you want to go to Hogsmeade again sometime...” he starts, clearing his throat nervously and kicking at the ground. “It was nice to just be with you.”

“Oliver, I truly admire your determination,” she jokes. “But I don’t — I don’t like you like that. I mean, you’re great —! You’re a fantastic Keeper and a great friend, and I’m sorry for maybe giving you the wrong impression, but — well — do you understand what I’m saying?”

Oliver grins, nodding. “Yes,” he says. “And just so you know, I know Harry’s not to blame for the match.”

“That’s sweet of you.”

When Darcy enters the hospital wing, Harry is already surrounded by the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, as well as Ron and Hermione. She spends some time with him quietly, listening to everyone attempt to cheer him, but to no avail. Eventually, Darcy bids him good-bye and leaves, promising to come back again when he’s alone. Harry takes no offense, and Darcy encourages the Quidditch team to leave him to rest for a little while. They follow her out of the hospital wing, but Ron and Hermione stay at his side.

* * *

 “It’s Flobberworm Mucus, not —” Darcy squints at the tiny writing. “What does that even say?” She looks at Ron over his parchment as she scribbles on it with her quill. He groans, stretching out in front of the fire. “And this should be seven times counterclockwise, not three times clockwise.”

Ron sits up and watches Darcy warily as she scratches more of his writing out. “No,” he protests. “I’m pretty sure Snape said three times —”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Darcy interrupts.

“No, he did.”

“Ron,” she says again, laughing at him. “I’m sure it’s seven times counterclockwise.” She keeps reading down his essay, brushing the feather of her quill against her face. “I don’t even know what _icaming_ is —”

“Let me see that.” Ron snatches the parchment out of Darcy’s hands and scoffs. “It says _lacewing_.”

“Does it?” Darcy takes his essay back and reads it over a few more times before the letters become clearer to her. “Huh, it does. Well, that’s not right.”

“You sure you won’t just write it for me?”

“I’m sure.” Darcy places his essay on the table and puts her quill beside it. “If I do that, how will you ever learn anything?”

“You’re just like Hermione —”

“Then you could ask her to do your homework next time.”

“All right, all right…” Ron grumbles, and he begins to make the corrections.

“If you’re feeling up to it, my Defense homework could use looking over, as well…” Harry smiles at his sister pleasantly, resting his head on her shoulder while holding the questionnaire out in front of her. Darcy grabs it, and Emily laughs from her other side.

“You’re a sucker, Darcy,” she says, not looking up from her book.

She reads it over quickly. “I was wondering why the Hinkypunk was in his classroom,” Darcy mutters. “These all look right to me. Here, maybe change this answer…” Instead of having Harry do it, she does it herself, grabbing her quill off the table, dipping it in ink, and adding to his short answer. She hands it back.

“If I don’t get full marks, then I’ll know who to blame.”

It isn’t long until Ron tires of his Potions essay and retires to his dormitory. Emily soon follows with a quick goodnight to Darcy, leaving her and Harry alone by the fire. A few people still linger in the common room — Fred and George Weasley are playing a game of Exploding Snap, and Neville Longbottom watches on eagerly. Julia, one of Darcy’s dormitory mates, sits reading in the opposite  corner. Darcy stretches her legs out, resting them on the coffee table, and Harry splays out on the empty half of the couch that he’s claimed.

“So,” Harry starts, and Darcy hums in response. “I’ve got some good news.”

Darcy looks at him, arching an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Professor Lupin said he’d teach me how to defend myself against dementors,” Harry says, almost sounding excited. “When next term begins, he said.”

“He’s going to teach you how to produce a Patronus?” Darcy asks, smiling. “That’s great, Harry! But… well — you could have asked me, you know. I would have taught you. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it —”

“Professor Lupin said you couldn’t produce a Patronus.”

She flushes a deep red, frowning. “That’s not true!” she snaps. “I produced — _something_.”

“I’m just telling you what he said,” Harry shrugs, smiling wickedly. “Maybe he could teach both of us.”

Darcy scoffs and splutters. “I don’t need lessons in producing a Patronus when I already can —”

“Can _not_ ,” Harry reminds her. “He said you _couldn’t_.”

She scowls. “Fine,” she says. “Fine, I’ll come with you during your first lesson, but only to prove to you _and_ Professor Lupin that I _can_ and _will_ produce a Patronus.”

Harry looks away into the fire, but Darcy can see the small smile that still plays on his lips. “Looking forward to it.”

Humiliated, Darcy doesn’t say good-night before going up the steps to her dormitory. In the dark, where no one can see her reddened face, she changes into her pajamas and covers herself with her blankets in bed. Despite Harry embarrassing her — and Professor Lupin — she does think the lessons could benefit Harry and herself, and it gives her an excuse to throw at Emily the next time she wants to bring up the time she spends with Lupin.

 _But I shouldn’t need an excuse_ , she reminds herself.

* * *

“Why did you tell Harry I couldn’t produce a Patronus?” Darcy shouts the next morning after class. She at least waits until the classroom has emptied save for Emily to save him from whatever degree of embarrassment he might feel. However, when she speaks, she’s the one that blushes.

Lupin looks at her with wide eyes, his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. He doesn’t answer, but starts to laugh, causing Emily to laugh at Darcy, as well.

Darcy rounds on Emily. “You can’t produce a Patronus, either!” she snaps. “Mine was better than yours!”

Emily stops laughing, scrunching her nose. Lupin shrugs his shoulders and claps his hands together, moving back towards the large desk at the front of his classroom. “He asked and I told him the truth,” Lupin answers. “I didn’t realize you’d rather I lie for you. That’s not to say I don’t believe you _could_ produce a Patronus — with the proper teaching, of course…”

“I will have proper teaching,” Darcy grins smugly. “You’ll be my teacher.”

“Oh?” Lupin asks with a smile. “Will I?”

“Darcy!” Emily hisses in her ear. Darcy turns to face her and it seems that Emily is bursting to say something, but she notices Professor Lupin watching her, so she clears her throat. “You should at least ask instead of insisting…”

“Oh — no, no,” he says, waving a hand at Emily in dismissal. “I’d be glad to teach you, Darcy. Will anyone else be joining us that I should be aware of beforehand?” He looks to Emily in particular. “Miss Duncan?”

Emily hesitates, then shakes her head. “No, thank you,” she replies shortly. “Darcy, come on, I’m starving.” She tugs at Darcy’s sleeve, and Darcy stumbles backwards slightly. “Goodbye, Professor.”

“I’ll see you next week in class, Emily,” Lupin nods. “Darcy, I’ll see you tonight.”

Darcy smiles at him as he retreats back to his office, waving at her and laughing again. When Emily drags Darcy out of the classroom, she huffs loudly, brushing her long hair out of her face and clearing her throat again, this time much louder. “You’re having dinner with him tonight?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

Emily hums, fidgeting beside Darcy as they walk towards the Great Hall.

Darcy stops and rolls her eyes, chortling. “Go on,” she says, bracing herself. “Say what you need to say.”

Her friend looks towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, making sure the door is still shut. Other students bustle around them, but pay them no mind. The Weasley twins pass, clapping Darcy on both shoulders, and when they’re out of earshot, Emily crosses her arms over her chest and stiffens. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately and I don’t know if I like it —”

“Well, you don’t have to like it —”

“I’m not done,” Emily barks. “I think it’s pretty inappropriate to be having dinner with a teacher on a regular basis and I do _not_ like the way that he smiles at you —”

“The same way he smiles at you?”

“All right, fine, I don’t like the way that _you_ smile at _him_ like — like — I don’t know — don’t make me say it, please —”

“Emily.” Darcy puts her hands on Emily’s shoulder and looks her in the eyes. “If you are so concerned about it, why don’t you have dinner with us tonight? You’ll see that there isn’t anything to worry about.”

Emily purses her lips. Then she sighs, defeated. “No,” she answers. “No, it’s fine. Have your dinner and talk about whatever it is you two talk about and — Darcy, just please promise me that nothing inappropriate is going on between you two —”

“I promise.”

But even as they walk to the Great Hall for lunch, Darcy feels guilty. She knows what Emily thinks, and Darcy is truthful about that part a least — but as she thinks more about it, she realizes that maybe Emily does have cause for concern. While Darcy and Lupin haven’t really done anything to warrant expulsion or termination (except maybe for stumbling upon him while transformed and the fact that he had scarred her shoulder permanently, but that’s another matter altogether), their relationship is more than that of a regular student-teacher relationship. She knows that they do spend quite a bit of time together, but weekly dinners is nothing, and she’s willing to prove that to Emily, but she’s also been afraid to tell Emily about the night of the Quidditch match.

She wonders briefly what Emily would say if Darcy admitted that Lupin had held her — hugged her, _comforted_ her — if only for a quick moment, if she admitted that Lupin had brought her into his private chambers to console her. The fact that she’s afraid to tell Emily says something, but Darcy doesn’t want it to end. She’s found a friend in Lupin, a very good friend, with connections to her parents, who could have been a part of her life had things been different.

 _Is that inappropriate_ ? Darcy wonders. _Is that what Emily is afraid of_?

As she eats her lunch, fingers clasp her shoulder gently for an instant. She turns, suspecting it to be Fred or George, but as she turns around, she sees Lupin sweeping up the aisle towards the long teachers table. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at her before taking his seat.

Darcy sighs. _Shit._


	23. Chapter 23

Lupin had thought — strictly for the sake of comfort — that dinner would be better if seated upon a couch rather than two hard chairs. Darcy couldn’t say no, and now she sits on his own sofa in front of a fire, Lupin beside her. Their dinner plates rest on the coffee table and he’s provided himself and Darcy with a bottle of butterbeer. Famished, Darcy eats in silence for a little bit, listening to Lupin talk of upcoming lessons he wants to do for his seventh years, as well as his doubts about moving too quickly for his first year classes. 

“—and stop doing Harry’s homework for him. He won’t learn anything that way.”

This gets Darcy’s attention and she looks at him, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m not doing Harry’s homework,” she lies.

“No one else would use the word ‘predilection’ in their answer to a question about a hinkypunk. I’ve graded far too many of your essays to know that you’re the only student who uses that word regularly.”

Darcy scrunches her nose, watching him smile and go back to his dinner. “Did you give him full credit?”

“Yes,” he replies between bites, laughing to himself. “I gave him full credit.”

It’s quiet again as they continue their supper, and Darcy looks around the room while his eyes are glued to his food. There aren’t many decorations in his apartments, and it doesn’t quite feel like Lupin has made this his home. There are no photographs hanging on the walls on propped on the mantle, and while the place is cluttered with parchment and quills and homework that needs graded, there isn’t much of his own personal belongings scattered about. On the corner of the coffee table, there are two stacks of books — the first stack is four books tall, thick volumes relating to dark creatures and defensive magic, a history of the culture of British wizards and witches, their pages wrinkled and worn from years of use. The second stack is seven books tall, but the books are smaller and thinner, the spines starting to fall off and the pages turning yellow. These books, Darcy recognizes, are Muggle in nature — poetry books, one that doesn’t have a title but is bound in black leather, three short novels.

She reaches for the top one, the poetry book, and she flips through the pages. “I know this book,” she says, putting her fork down on her plate. The book looks to be in brand new condition, and she touches the pages tenderly as if they’re made of delicate china. Darcy turns to face Lupin, grinning. “I didn’t realize you were fond of Muggle poetry.”

“My mother’s doing,” Lupin replies fondly. “I could say the same for you, however.”

Darcy closes the book, keeping it close to her chest, tight in her hands. “When I was a little girl, Petunia made me memorize poems from books like these, and she would have me recite them in flowery dresses when she had company.”

“Do you have a favorite?” he asks her.

“I don’t know that I remember many poems off the top of my head,” she admits, leafing through the book again. “But there is one… forgive me if I don’t recite it correctly —”

“I won’t hold it against you.”

Darcy thinks hard, trying to remember. “‘When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, and trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, and look upon myself, and curse my fate, wishing me like to one more rich in hope, featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d, desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, with what I most enjoy contented least’ —”

“—‘Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, haply I think of thee, and then my state like to the lark at break of day arising from sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate’ —”

“—‘For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings that then I scorn to change my state with kings’.” Darcy smiles and shrugs her shoulders when she finishes. 

“Shakespeare,” he whispers, nodding his head. “That one is in the book. It’s beautiful.”

“Petunia hated it,” she recalls. “I think that’s why I liked it so much.” Darcy turns the book over in her hands, sighing and putting it back on top of the stack. “She wanted me to be a proper young lady — but I think she probably just hoped I’d become so fascinated with the life I could have being a lady, that I wouldn’t want anything to do with the magical world anymore.”

“Clearly, she went about it the wrong way,” Lupin teases. “Who could resist the wizarding world when they could be reciting poetry and curtseying?” 

“It’s not funny,” Darcy retorts, but she smiles warmly at him all the same. “I dreaded those days. She taught me proper table etiquette, how to cook meals. I recited poetry, and she always made me sing to her — she put me in ballet when I was five years ago and refused to take me out of it for another two years. She told me that I should marry rich, live a comfortable life like her, stay at home with the children.” Darcy picks up her fork again, pushing her food around on her plate, scoffing. “Can you imagine? Me — a socialite. Or worse — another Aunt Petunia.” She brushes her hair out of her face dramatically. 

“I’m sure she’s incredibly disappointed that the allure of our world kept you in its clutches,” he continues. “But living a comfortable life isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

“No?” she snaps. “While I was being taught how to act a proper lady, how to attract a husband, Harry was being kept in a cupboard under the stairs — ignored, neglected, unloved by the last of our living family, and unwanted. I could have had a normal life, but at what cost? The cost of my brother’s happiness?” Darcy sighs again, rubbing her face. “I will  _ never _ be like Petunia.”

“She sounds cruel,” Lupin concedes. “You are anything but that, Darcy.”

Darcy and Lupin look at each other for a long minute, studying each other’s faces, examining each other closely. Darcy turns away.

“What would my mother have wanted for me?” she asks quietly, frowning. “What would she say if she could see how Petunia raised me?”

“I can’t speak for your mother,” Lupin says apologetically. “But I’m sure she just would have wanted you to be happy.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Darcy shrugs, looking back down at her plate, then into the fire. “But I don’t have that luxury. I don’t have the opportunity to do whatever I want — whatever my heart desires.” She turns to Lupin again, and blushes when she realizes he hasn’t looked away from her. As she resituates herself on the couch, her body facing his, their knees touch and Darcy pulls her leg away quickly, clearing her throat. It takes her a moment to say what she had wanted to say because that simple contact has her so flustered. “I’m going back home after I graduate. Emily is so convinced that I’ll follow her into the Ministry, but — it’s just a dream. I can’t.”

“Harry must know that you can’t be at his side always.”

Darcy smiles weakly. “Who would I be without Harry?”

Lupin walks her all the way to the classroom door when they finish. It’s past curfew, and he offers to walk her back to Gryffindor Tower, apologizing profusely about losing track of time. Darcy shrugs him off, grinning when he sighs, defeated. Before she goes, he remembers something. “About the lessons with Harry…” he starts, tilting his head. “Were you serious?”

“Well, sure — I mean, if it’s all right with you,” she says. “I just thought maybe it’s a useful skill to have, conjuring a Patronus. And you’re right, I can’t do it on my own.”

“It’s advanced magic,” he explains, reassuring her. “I never expected you to conjure a full blown Patronus the first time anyone’s ever asked you to. You did a wonderful job. I never meant to insult you in the slightest.”

Darcy chuckles. “It’s all right.”

The rest of November passes quickly enough. Darcy looks forward to Christmas break, and looks forward to being in a near empty castle with more freedom than she’s had in weeks. The overall atmosphere of the castle is spirited, and with the upcoming Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match, tensions are high, as well. Emily and Darcy — who are rooting for Ravenclaw in hopes that Gryffindor will still have a chance at the cup — butt heads with Carla and the ever competitive Gemma, who takes up the Hufflepuff colors, as well. 

While Emily persists with her suspicions about Darcy and Lupin, Darcy finds that the nights she spends with Lupin are her favorite nights. She’s started bringing her homework to his cozy apartment, and after dinner he’s taken to reading the poetry book outloud after they finish dinner while she scribbles hasty answers or does some last minute research in one of her books. It was she who had made the suggestion he read aloud to her, and she had thought that the poems would bring up nasty emotions she still associates with her childhood, but Lupin’s soothing voice makes her see them in a different light, and she comes to love each poem in its own way. Lupin allows her to read her favorite Shakespearean sonnet when they get to it, and he flashes a wide grin at her throughout the whole thing.

Harry lets her borrow the Invisibility Cloak for the nights that Darcy has dinner with Lupin, and she leaves it behind a statue outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom before entering. It helps her avoid a few teachers on her way back sometimes. Lupin still apologizes each night that he keeps her so late, offering every time to walk her back, but she declines politely. Underneath the Invisibility Cloak, she can’t stop smiling the whole back back to her common room.

Gemma begins to catch up with her work and eventually arranges something one Saturday, so Darcy, Emily, and Carla join in her an abandoned bathroom for a few drinks. It’s the most fun Darcy’s had in a while, and they all leave closer to dawn than dusk to return to their common room. Darcy and Emily end up falling asleep together in Darcy’s small bed, drunk and exhausted and stinking of wine.

That night, Darcy’s dreams are blurred and they run together, most like because of all the alcohol she’d consumed. She can feel the heavy weight of debris and rubble on her legs, and in her dream she screams and shrieks for help, and when the faceless man comes to rescue her, she wakes. When Darcy sits up straight, Emily wakes with her, frightened. Emily holds Darcy to her, comforting her, but Darcy isn’t afraid. In fact, a surge of affection for Emily goes through her and she feels  _ loved _ . She looks around the common room, allowing Emily to run her fingers through her hair until the world around Darcy begins to spin and she has to lay down and close her eyes again. 

Despite the bitter cold, the conditions are perfect for the Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw game. Darcy and Emily shout themselves hoarse with Harry, Ron, and Hermione at their side, screaming in delight each time Ravenclaw manages to put the Quaffle past the Hufflepuff keeper. It’s a long, exciting game as Ravenclaw scores points after points after points and when the Snitch is finally caught by their Seeker, Cho Chang, both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students alike create so much noise that by the time they walk back to their common room, Darcy’s head is ringing, but a smile is stuck on her face for the rest of the day. Fred and George Weasley even smuggle some butterbeer from Hogsmeade and the Gryffindors celebrate Ravenclaw’s win that night, drinking to the possibility of Gryffindor winning the Cup.

With spirits running as high as ever, even teachers begin to feel the excitement of the holidays. Darcy gets less homework that she usually does, and most teachers skip lectures in order to have more “hands-on” lessons before break. This allows Darcy more time to spend with her friends, and they spend most of their time in the library or in an old bathroom, talking excitedly of their winter break plans. They all offer multiple times to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas with Darcy, but she refuses their offers politely, insisting they spend the time with their own families. 

She also busies herself with Harry’s Quidditch practice. It’s almost painful to watch Harry ride the school’s broomstick, slow and clumsy, but she relishes the fresh air. Harry complains daily about getting a new broomstick, and she almost puts in an order for one after practice one night to shut him up, but after overhearing him talking about what kind of broom he wants, she throws her order form into the fire. Harry still plays fairly on his school broom, and Oliver doesn’t seem to have taken her words to heart — he’s still friendly as ever to her, complimenting her after every practice and walking her back to Gryffindor Tower ahead of the rest of the team. 

A week before the end of term, Darcy receives an owl at breakfast. It’s not a very handsome owl, in fact it’s a small and rather weak owl, but it drops the letter onto her lap just fine and soars away through the open windows, presumably up to the owlery to rest. When she sees it’s from Mr. Weasley, she tears the letter open, and Ron peers over her shoulder at it, sitting to her right.

“Why didn’t dad write me?” he asks glumly, shoving a spoonful of porridge into his mouth. “Do I not deserve a letter?”

“How many times have you written him this year?” Darcy asks with a sly grin.

“None,” Ron answers.

_ Darcy, _

_ Spoke with Dumbledore and the Ministry  _ —  _ I’ll be able to visit this Saturday. Meet me at the Three Broomsticks and we can have lunch and a drink. We have a lot to discuss. _

_ Tell my children, as well. I’d like to see them if they aren’t too ashamed to be caught in public with their father. _

_ I’ll see you soon. _

_ Mr. Weasley _

“He’s visiting,” Darcy smiles. “He’ll be in Hogsmeade on our next trip. Saturday. He said to meet him at the Three Broomsticks, and told me to bring along any kids who aren’t too embarrassed to see him.”

Ron scrunches his nose. “Tell him I’ll say hello in passing, but I won’t have lunch with him.”

“You should be thankful you have such a wonderful father,” Darcy replies, ruffling his bright red hair. “I’m sure Ginny would like to see him.” But Darcy’s stomach turns at the thought of what he needs to discuss. She’s sure it’s just Ministry business, and she’s sure that Mr. Weasley will offer her help getting into a Ministry, but part of her worries knowing that he’s spoken to Dumbledore. Her hand goes up to her left shoulder instinctively, afraid that somehow Mr. Weasley’s found out about the incident, but she won’t know until talking to him, so she tries to put her fears out of her mind.

“What if he knows?” Darcy asks Lupin one night. “What if Dumbledore told him?”

Lupin puts the book down in his lap, closing it. She’s now interrupted him three times in five minutes, and he sighs, leaning back on the couch. When Darcy looks at him, she can tell that he’s afraid of that exact scenario, but he does his best to keep calm about it. She does enough worrying for the both of them. “Why would Professor Dumbledore tell him? He’s not your father,” Lupin replies.

“I know, but… McGonagall wrote to him when she caught me drinking,” Darcy counters.

“That’s different,” Lupin says. 

Darcy sits up straighter and bites down on her lower lip. “What did Dumbledore tell you? After everything happened?”

Lupin hesitates, looking at her warily. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he utters. His eyes flick to her shoulder and linger there. Lupin sighs deeply and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I’m so, so sorry, Darcy…”

“It’s fine,” she says quickly, nodding. “It’s healed. It’s over.”

But Lupin doesn’t seem to think it’s fine. “Darcy, I — you have no idea how guilty I feel,” he whispers, moving closer to Darcy. He reaches out to her shoulder, but stops as his fingers hover above it. Thinking better of it, he lowers his hand back to his lap. Lowering his voice as if people are in the room with them, listening closely, he continues. “I could have turned you. Just knowing that I could have… it haunts me, and I cannot apologize enough.”

Darcy sits still as a statue. She touches her shoulder, fingers the raised scars through the fabric of her sweater. She can feel her face burning, turning red like it always does when he gets so close to her. “But you didn’t,” she says meekly. Darcy looks him over again, resisting the urge to reach out and brush his hair out of his eyes. He’s so close to her that she would barely have to move to kiss him — just one kiss, just to see what it would be like, just to see if it’s at good in real life as it is in her dreams... She clears her throat and stands suddenly. Lupin gets to his feet with her, breathing heavier than normal. “I should go. It’s getting late.”

“I’ll walk you back,” he insists, making her smile. 

“I’ll be fine.”

Lupin nods and closes the door after her. Darcy gathers up the Invisibility Cloak she’s stashed outside of his classroom, walking slowly back to Gryffindor Tower, trying to think of  _ what  _ she was thinking. She knows that he’s her teacher, knows that he’s her dead parents’ friend, knows  _ what _ he is and knows that it’s wrong, wrong, wrong… but sitting in his small apartments, listening to him read poetry to her, she forgets all of that. Listening to him read to her, eating dinner in front of a warm fire, telling him all of her fears and hopes and dreams, savoring small accidental touches — he’s not any of those things then, he’s just her friend.

Darcy shudders, mentally kicking herself and thinking seriously about a cold shower. Or a jump in the Black Lake. Or a tall shot of whiskey. Anything to douse her feelings for Lupin.


	24. Chapter 24

Emily, Carla, and Gemma leave for Hogsmeade without Darcy, promising to meet up with her after she’s finished with Mr. Weasley. Ginny nearly cries as Darcy leaves, but she promises that Mr. Weasley will come to see her shortly. Harry, as well, seems disappointed that Darcy is leaving him in the castle to go to Hogsmeade, but she kisses his head (as he mutters under his breath and wriggles from her grip) and departs Hogwarts by herself.

The walk down to Hogsmeade is peaceful; the breeze catches falling snow and swirls it around Darcy’s head, melting in her red hair. With a scarf wrapped tight around her face, gloves on her hands, and a heavy cloak wrapped about her person, it’s not particularly cold. The leaves have all fallen from the trees now, leaving them dead and brown and the bright snow settles on the thin branches, blanketing the Forbidden Forest. The snow crunches beneath Darcy’s boots as she follows the footprints of her fellow students down the road to Hogsmeade.

The Whomping Willow seems to shudder from cold. She walks on the edge of the road, trying to be as far away from the tree as possible. The tree seems so different in the snow than she remembers it to look with the red and orange glow of evening light glowing on its trunk, making it seem more alive. In the snow, it looks just as dead as any other tree, but Darcy knows the Whomping Willow is not like any other tree she’s ever seen. 

Smoke billows from the chimney of Hagrid’s hut as she passes, and Buckbeak is nowhere to be seen outside. She laughs to herself at the thought of Buckbeak curled up beside Fang like another dog, wings tucked into its body, trying not to take up all the space in the hut. On the other side of the road, the Quidditch pitch is overrun with players in green and silver robes tossing a Quaffle back and forth in the air and laughing loudly, their echoes carrying across the grounds.

When she enters the Three Broomsticks, Mr. Weasley is already seated at a table in the middle of the large pub. She grins and takes her winter wear off, hanging her cloak over the back of the chair that Mr. Weasley pulls out for her. He pushes her back in towards the table as soon as she sits down, and returns to his own seat. Only moments later, Madam Rosmerta brings two large glasses of butterbeer and sets them on the table. 

Darcy’s heart starts to beat faster as she drinks her butterbeer, watching Mr. Weasley carefully over the rim of her glass. She wonders how much he knows — how much Dumbledore has told him — how much McGonagall has told him. She hopes that Snape hasn’t said anything to him either. Mr. Weasley smiles at her from ear to ear. Darcy lowers her glass, gripping it tight, and she opens her mouth to speak at the same time that Mr. Weasley does.

“I know what you’re going to say and I know that he would  _ never _ hurt me on purpose and he’s had plenty of opportunities to do so, but he wouldn’t, and I trust him with my —”

“I’ve gotten the okay from Amelia Bones and you are welcome to join my department as an intern — she’s thinking of relocating Perkins within the next year or so, so you’d be able to be my assistant —”

They both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, confused and bewildered. Then they speak again at the time.

“Wait, Darcy — wait are you talking about?” 

“An intern at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office?”

“Darcy,” Mr. Weasley says again, more seriously. He leans in closer to her, concern etched across his face. “What are you talking about? Who hurt you?”

Darcy hesitates, shrugging her shoulders and giving Mr. Weasley a nervous smile. “No one,” she chuckles softly. “I just assumed that — it’s nothing, please, don’t listen to me. Tell me more of this internship.” Darcy grabs her glass of butterbeer and drinks it slowly, hoping that Mr. Weasley will stop looking at her with such disappointment in his eyes. She frowns, giving him a wide-eyed look. When he doesn’t look away, she frowns and lowers her voice. “Please don’t make me say it, Mr. Weasley.”

“Are you all right?” he whispers.

“Yes,” she breathes, smiling in relief. “I’m fine.”

Mr. Weasley considers her, exhaling through his long nose with his lips pursed. Then he nods slightly, putting his hands on the table and lacing his fingers together. “Okay,” he shrugs, knowing it’s a lost cause to continue asking. He clears his throat and smiles at her. “Now, about this position — I would be happy to have you as my intern, and I know that it’s not exactly what you want to do and it’s unpaid, I know, but Amelia Bones is willing to bring you on our team right after you graduate.”

Darcy is speechless. “Mr. Weasley, this is an amazing opportunity, but I — I can’t take a job right out of school. I need the summer — I need to be with Harry at least until he comes back to Hogwarts next year and then I can figure it out,” she explains. “I’m sorry.”

His smile falls as he looks on incredulously. “I thought you would like this,” he admits. “You’ve wanted to go into the Ministry since the day that I met you, and I thought this would… excite you.”

“I would love to work for you, Mr. Weasley, truly,” she says apologetically, feeling incredibly guilty and upset. “But I cannot abandon Harry over the summer, and my aunt and uncle would never allow me to live at their home while working for the Ministry of Magic and I just — the thought of having to leave Harry there by himself every summer that remains him… I just — I can’t.” The idea has upset her more than she’s expected, and tears begin to well up in her eyes. “If I didn’t have Harry to worry about, I would accept in a heartbeat, but… maybe you could ask Emily, I mean — I’m sure she would accept.”

“I wanted you to be my intern, Darcy,” Mr. Weasley replies, patting her hand. “Not Emily. I know that you have a lot on your shoulders, darling, but this could be your way to rise in the Ministry. I know you could do great things, Darcy, and we will take care of Harry.”

“We’re a team,” she protests. “I can’t leave Harry. Not while he still lives at our aunt and uncle’s.”

“Darcy, look at me,” he asks, and she does. “You have done a fine job with that boy — more than fine. You’ve done your part, and now the time has come for you to move on. He knows that you cannot protect him forever.”

“I have to try,” Darcy says. “He’s my brother. My family.”

“You are not the only person who wants to keep him safe,” Mr. Weasley continues. “Molly and I — we’ll watch over him when you’re not able to. Dumbledore will keep an eye on him. And you, when you can.”

She thinks of Harry, of the years she’s spent at his side, caring for him since he was just a baby. She remembers the nights that she would read him stories as he fell asleep, she sewed his oversized clothing when it would rip, she held him after the Dursleys were especially cruel to him. She knows that even if Harry were to deny it and deny it and deny it — he needs her. And she needs him, if not more. Harry was her first friend, her only friend for such a long time, and when they’d been younger, they had always planned on being together forever — Darcy had promised Harry she’d take him with her as soon as she could leave Privet Drive, and she doesn’t intend on giving up on that promise.

But she remembers what Dumbledore had told her the previous summer. He’d caught wind of rumors that she was going to leave Privet Drive with Harry, and she’d rent a flat in the city with Emily, and Darcy and Harry would never have to think about Privet Drive again. She still, to this day, isn’t sure how Dumbledore had found out about their plans, but he had called her to his office one day and sat her down and told her very seriously, “Harry must not leave Privet Drive until he comes of age.” The way he said it had frightened her so badly that she took his words directly to heart.

Darcy watches Mr. Weasley, wringing his hands together on the table. She wants so badly to accept his offer, but knows that the Dursleys would kick her out so fast her head would spin if they knew she was working at the Ministry of Magic. And they would find out, it would only be just a matter of time.

“I’m sorry,” she finishes, sighing heavily. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t.”

“Just think about it,” Mr. Weasley insists. “You still have half a year before any decisions have to be made.”

The two of them eat lunch together as more students begin to file inside the Three Broomsticks. The air grows thick with smoke towards the end of their meal, and finally Mr. Weasley bids her goodbye with a kiss on the top of her head and he starts up the main road towards Hogwarts to say hello to his daughter.

It isn’t long after that that Darcy’s friends push in through the door and Darcy joins them at a larger table in the corner of the pub. They all ask at once what she and Mr. Weasley talked about, but Darcy just shrugs innocently and keeps the conversation to herself. She knows that if Emily finds out Darcy was offered a job with Mr. Weasley, she’d be ecstatic and push Darcy even more to take it. 

When the door opens, and the bell tinkles again, Darcy glances over that way and sees Hermione and Ron cross the threshold, wiping the snow off their feet on the mat on the floor. Hermione looks over towards her and Darcy waves a hand, offering them the last two empty seats at their table, and she smiles. As Hermione and Ron fully enter the Three Broomsticks, however, Darcy sees they’re not alone and her heart sinks. Harry’s trailing after them, looking around curiously and rushing to their table. Gemma pulls up another chair in between her and Darcy, and Harry sits it in, looking over both of her shoulders. 

“What are you doing here?” she hisses, then she turns to Hermione without giving Harry time to answer. Her voice goes up an octave. “What is he doing here?”

Hermione gives Harry a stern look, but Harry shakes his head and puts a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “I’ll explain everything later. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“What? No, of course not,” Darcy scoffs, looking around nervously at her friends. “Just stay down, all right?”

The seven of them laugh and drink their drinks, cheering to the holidays and to their preferred Quidditch teams. Ron and Gemma get into it about Gryffindor winning the Cup, Emily and Carla put their heads together and talk quietly amongst themselves. Harry, Hermione, and Darcy talk about classes, about Hagrid, about Transfiguration class, and then the bell tinkles yet again, but this time, the people entering do not bring a smile to Darcy’s face.

Hagrid enters first, ducking his head to make it through the doorway. He leads Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, who don’t so much as glance in their direction, but head straight for a table across from Darcy’s. Following them is Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, who glances about the pub with a fond smile. At the sight of them entering, everyone who can reach Harry forces him underneath the table, and Hermione moves the large Christmas tree beside them to block their table from view. Ron’s, Emily’s, and Carla’s back are still visible, but they keep their heads down and the teachers don’t bother with them.

Madam Rosmerta makes her way to their table, Darcy sees through the branches of the Christmas tree, and sets down a glass in front of everyone. When they all have their drinks, Madam Rosmerta crosses her arms over her chest. “Finally here to apologize about the dementors you’ve put here?” she asks quietly.

Cornelius Fudge sighs deeply, drumming his fingers on the table. “Rosmerta… my dear… the dementors are necessary still,” he replies, looking up at her from his seat. “I trust you’ve heard about what happened on Halloween?”

Madam Rosmerta taps her foot on the floor. “There’ve been rumors… nasty rumors… you hear all sorts of things in this place. I only hoped they weren’t true.” She clears her throat and stands up straighter. “He must be far away from here by now, so I’m sure the dementors can go now —”

“I agree,” McGonagall adds. “After what happened at the Quidditch match… Minister, with all due respect, those dementors have given us more trouble —”

“You’d rather be unprotected against him?” Fudge asks again. Darcy can see his face, and he raises his eyebrows as if proving a point. “You know what he’s capable of. Thirteen people he killed, and he’s probably ready to kill more now that he’s free again. And that’s not even the worst of it!”

“The worst?” Madam Rosmerta says, sounding frightened. “Nothing he’s done could be worse than that, could it?” She looks around the table, as if hoping someone will agree with her.

Cornelius Fudge looks like he’s waited all of his life to tell this story. Darcy’s palms are sweating, and she notices that everyone at the table is quiet, their eyes focused on the table that the Minister is sitting at. Even Harry, hidden beneath the table, is still. Darcy exhales suddenly, having been holding her breath. Fudge leans in, drawing everyone’s attention around his table, and he cocks an eyebrow. “You all remember Sirius Black when he was in school, don’t you?”

“Of course,” everyone says.

“And…” Fudge continues dramatically. “You remember who his best friend was?”

Madam Rosmerta laughs. “Yes, yes! That James Potter,” she recalls. “Of course I remember. You never saw one without the other, did you?”

That’s the first shock Darcy receives. She looks down at Harry, who’s already looking up at her. Her chest tightens and her stomach churns, but she continues to listen all the same, as well as her friends around her. She isn’t sure where this story is going, but she knows she wants to hear the ending — she thinks. She knows it may be better to get up and walk out right now and never have to hear what happened between her father and his old best friend, Sirius Black. How could she not have known? How could that have been kept from her?

“The best of friends…” Fudge smiles darkly. “Best man at James and Lily’s wedding, did you know? And they named Sirius Black godfather to both Darcy and Harry, but they have no idea — can you imagine what they’d think if they knew?”

Darcy’s mouth drops slightly. Her heart beats faster and faster and faster with the learning of this new knowledge. She stares at the table, listening hard.

“Now, you know that You-Know-Who was after the Potters’, and one of Dumbledore’s spies found out and urged them to go into hiding, which is no small feat — hiding from You-Know-Who.” Fudge talks animatedly with his hands now and Darcy’s sitting on the edge of her seat. Her right leg bounces up and down uncontrollably. “Dumbledore helped them hide using the Fidelius Charm.”

“Ah,” Flitwick nods. “A complex spell. They would have needed a Secret Keeper… and the Secret Keeper must have been… ?”

“Sirius Black?” Madam Rosmerta whispers.

“I remember,” Professor McGonagall states sadly. “Dumbledore offered to be their Secret Keeper, but they trusted Black with their lives and wouldn’t change their minds.”

“Dumbledore suspected Black to be a traitor?” Madam Rosmerta asks, bending over, the better to hear Fudge’s story. “That’s why he offered?”

“There were dark rumors,” Fudge confirms. “Dumbledore knew that somebody close to the Potters’ was passing information to You-Know-Who.”

“But Sirius Black was kept Secret Keeper,” Madam Rosmerta says again, her voice barely a whisper.

“Yes,” Fudge finishes. “And not even a week later… Sirius Black was tired of being a double-agent and the rest is history…”

“Filthy, stinkin’ turncoat!” Hagrid shouts, and everyone turns to look at him, surprised. He lowers his voice and rubs his eyes, muttering. “He was there — Sirius Black was there the night James an’ Lily died an’ I got Harry up outta the ruins o’ their house, lookin’ for Darcy… an’ there he was, white an’ shakin’ and holdin’ Darcy in his arms. And I  _ comforted him _ !”

“Hagrid, shh!” Professor McGonagall urges, placing a hand on his large back.

“I told him tha’ Dumbledore wanted me to take both Harry an’ Darcy to their aunt an’ uncle’s. Black wouldn’t give me Darcy, though — he jus’ held onto her, askin’ me to give him Harry, promisin’ he’d keep ‘em safe. But when he realized I wouldn’t give him Harry, he handed over Darcy sayin’ that he wouldn’t separate them ‘cause he knew they’d hate him for it… Poor Darcy cried the whole time — she wouldn’t let go of him… I had to pry her off Black’s chest...” Hagrid sniffles. “He gave me his motorbike to take them there… but the whole ride to their aunt and uncle’s house I was jus’ thinkin’... what if I’d have left without Darcy? What if I’d have given him Harry, too?” Hagrid shakes his shaggy head and bangs a fist on the table. “He would’a killed them!”

The adults are silent for a moment, grieving. Darcy feels about to vomit and her knuckles are bleeding where she’s bitten down on them. Tears fall freely down her cheeks and she shuts her eyes tight.  _ He’s lying. He’s lying. He’s lying. Hagrid is lying _ . Darcy is too afraid to look at her friends, too afraid of the horror in their eyes.  _ He doesn’t remember. That’s not how it happened. He’s lying _ .

“Peter Pettigrew caught up with him before we could,” Fudge sighs into his hands. “Pettigrew never stood a chance against Black. Black killed him, along with twelve Muggles… I remember the scene… I was there… all of the bodies just lying there… Black was laughing and in front of him, just a few fragments of all that remained of Pettigrew…” There’s another long silence, and Darcy thinks it’s finally over, but Fudge speaks again. “I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. He seemed…  _ normal _ … asked if he could have my newspaper and I gave it to him…”

It’s clear that none of them want to talk about Sirius Black anymore. Professor McGonagall stands. “Let’s get you back to the castle, Minister,” she rasps, and Darcy sees that her cheeks are tear stained. “Dumbledore will be waiting for you.”

They all file out of the Three Broomstick quietly, and Madam Rosmerta returns to the bar. Darcy slowly looks at Harry, whose eyes are filled with tears. She doesn’t know what to say to him, just sits there with wet cheeks and wet eyes, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find words to say to him. Around the table, everyone is staring at her, their eyes flicking to Harry and back to her. 

She holds her head in her hands and cries. Gemma wraps her arms around Darcy as she sobs at the table, still hidden behind the Christmas tree. The realization had hit her all at once and she doesn’t need to be asleep to relive her nightmare — the same dream she’s been having since summer… since seeing Sirius Black on the news… She knows now that it’s not a faceless man in her dreams — it’s not Hagrid, it’s not Lupin, it’s not anyone that she would have thought. It’s Sirius Black. Sirius Black rescues her from the rubble and she goes with him gladly, a familiar face, a  _ friendly _ face, one she’d come to love. The thought that maybe once she had loved Sirius makes her sick to her stomach and she nearly falls out of her chair, stumbling outside of the pub and vomiting. 

Her friends follow her, help steady her. Emily holds her hair back as Darcy vomits up everything in her stomach, crying all the while. Gemma and Carla sink to their knees beside her. Carla’s face is wet and shiny, as well, and she holds Darcy’s hand as tight as she can. Both of their hands are trembling. 

How could no one have told her? Her first thought is to be angry at Hagrid. She had known him for seven years now, and never told her once how it all happened that night. He had kept it from her for seven years now, kept it from her for no reason. But she doesn’t blame Hagrid, no matter how angry she is. Hagrid would never have wanted her to be hurt, to be haunted by the knowledge that Sirius Black almost took her away from her brother… but there is another who would have known… another who would have known that Sirius Black was her and Harry’s godfather… who would have known that the Potters’ trusted Sirius Black with their lives… 

Darcy stands up, wiping her mouth with clean snow. She walks up the High Street, moving quickly, leaving her friends behind her, dumbfounded. 

“Where are you going?” Emily shouts, catching up to her. Gemma and Carla follow. “Darcy, let’s get you back to the common room, and we can —”

“No,” she snaps. “I’m not going back to the common room.”

“Darcy…” Gemma says, and she and Carla exchange worried glances. “What are you about to do?”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've had a lot of time to write while suffering from the flu ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Gemma walks backwards ahead of her, urging Darcy to turn around. “This is a terrible idea, Darcy,” she says quickly. “Just go back to the common room and I’ll — I’ll get us some drinks and we’ll talk about this and we’ll laugh about it —”

“I won’t be able to laugh about this.”

“Come on, Darcy, you can’t just barge in on him like this,” Carla adds, grabbing at Darcy’s arm, but Darcy pulls her arm away. “You just had a lot of information thrown at you and maybe you should just sleep on it and —”

“No.”

“Darcy,” Emily sighs, frustrated. “I know how you must be feeling right now, but this is no way to deal with it — we all need to talk about this first — we’re a team, remember? We all love you and we all want you to be okay and —”

“Emily —” Darcy interrupts, pushing past her friends as they make their way back up to Hogwarts. “I’m sorry, but you have no idea how I’m feeling right now. You have no idea what this is like.”

“If you’re going to be mad at someone, then you should be mad at Hagrid,” Emily says. “Hagrid had plenty of opportunities to tell you — seven years you’ve known him —!”

“Don’t try and turn me against Hagrid —”

“I’m not trying to turn you against anyone,” Emily snaps. “I’m just saying that maybe you’re frustrated with the wrong person — I mean, you’ve only known Lupin for barely four months — why would he have told you all of that?”

“Emily’s right,” Carla cautions. “You can’t blame him for not telling you.”

That gives her pause. Darcy stops in the middle of the road, and Gemma touches Darcy’s face with gentle hands. She wipes Darcy’s tears and brushes the hair out of her face. Gemma’s eyes are wide with worry and sorrow. Darcy looks past Gemma at Emily, watching on. Has it really only been four months? Four long, grueling months that have tested her limits. But four months sounds wrong — four months seems far too short. Surely she’s known Lupin longer than that. To her, it’s as if she’s known him all her life. Is it unfair to expect such things from him? All she knows is that rage is consuming her, and she needs to take it out on someone, but Hagrid isn’t that person. She knows that if she were to storm up to Hagrid’s door, she’d crumble at the sight of him.

Darcy looks into Gemma’s eyes, a deep, rich brown. Her thumbs brush against her cheeks. “Darcy,” Gemma starts again, sounding more patient this time. “He cares about you, and you know that. And you know that he wouldn’t want to see you like this and that’s why he wouldn’t tell you —”

She knows Gemma means well, but she pulls away all the same, and Darcy starts trudging through the snow again, though she slows her pace down this time and there’s some hesitation behind her steps. Still, she’s much too prideful to turn around with all of her friends watching, so she continues up through the doors of Hogwarts, down the corridor the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Her friends protest the entire way.

“Darcy, you need to think this through,” Emily says, getting angry now. “You aren’t going to get anywhere by acting like a psychopath —”

“A  _ psychopath _ ?” Darcy whirls on her heels to face Emily. Gemma and Carla take a step back, but Emily stands her ground. She crosses her arms, her face set, as Darcy fumes. A vein throbs in her forehead and her entire face turns bright red. “Can you just imagine, for one second, being in my shoes? Can you imagine your parents being murdered by Voldemort?” Carla jumps at the sound of his name, but Emily and Gemma don’t flinch. “Can you imagine, being me, sitting in that damn pub and hearing everything that I just heard? Can you imagine Sirius Black being your godfather?”

“Don’t act like I don’t know what you’ve been through,” Emily spits. “You only shove it down my throat every time —”

Carla reddens. “Emily! How could you say that?”

“Shove it down your throat?” Darcy repeats, laughing outloud and ignoring Carla completely. She takes a step closer to Emily. “How can you be so insensitive? I’m sorry that my traumatic childhood has burdened you —  _ you _ , who’s lucky enough to have both of her parents, who is lucky enough to have been raised with everything served to you on a silver goddamn platter!”

“Darcy, that’s enough!” Gemma bellows, stepping between Darcy and Emily. “If you have something to say to Lupin, then I’m right behind you, but let’s do it now before it gets too late.”

Darcy smiles at Gemma, feeling a rush of affection for her friend. She nods and opens the door of the classroom, storming up to Lupin’s office with her three friends on her heels. Emily walks slower than the rest, but comes with them regardless. Darcy hesitates when she puts her hand on the doorknob, but opens it quickly, but Lupin is nowhere to be found. The office is deserted and dead quiet. Carla seems relieved and holds up her hands. “Looks like he’s not here,” she laughs awkwardly. “I guess we’ll just have to go back now…”

But Darcy doesn’t give up. She knows where he is, and she bangs on the wall in the area where the secret door to his apartment is. “Open the door!” she shouts, banging on the wall until her skin breaks. Her chest is heaving, suddenly nervous about meeting him face to face, armed with this brand new information. “ _ Open the door _ !” Darcy shouts again, and in a matter of seconds the door is opened and Lupin is staring at her, completely bewildered.

“What have I done to warrant a house call?” he asks with a small laugh, but no one laughs with him. Then he takes a longer look at Darcy and tenses. “What’s wrong?”

Darcy forces herself not to cry, but she can feel the tears building in her eyes. “ _ You _ !” She takes a step into the apartment, and Lupin takes a step back from her, seeing the anger flash in her eyes. She keeps walking until he backs into a wall, and then she points her finger at him, prodding his chest hard. Her friends watch at the threshold, silent and still. “You knew this whole time and you didn’t say anything!”

“I knew — what?” Lupin asks, raising an eyebrow. “What are you talking about, Darcy? Just tell me what’s going on. Ladies — could one of you please explain —”

“You knew about Sirius Black!” she yells, prodding his chest again with her index finger. “You knew that he was my godfather! You knew that he betrayed my parents!”

Lupin’s face falls and he looks at Darcy with such a soft and understanding expression it almost breaks her heart. She starts to cry in earnest, but she’s ashamed of it and she blushes. “Darcy,” he whispers, “you have to believe me, I —”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, her voice breaking. “Don’t you owe me that much? You kept it a secret and you should have told me! I told you everything, I told you —” She slams a fist into his chest as Emily and Carla gasp behind her. 

Lupin looks surprised that she’s hit him, and he puts a hand on his chest. “Ouch —! Hey!”

“Darcy!” Carla squeaks. “Stop! You shouldn’t —”

But she ignores Carla. Lupin catches her wrist, holding it tight as she tries to hit him with her other hand. He catches that one, too. “Please, stop — I can explain —”

“Explain what?” she retorts, breaking free of his grasp. Darcy stumbles backwards, but Lupin stays up against the wall, shaking his head. “Explain how you’re working with him? You helped him into the castle, I know —”

“No, I didn’t, you have to —” 

Darcy sobs into her hands, pushing her hair back. Her eyes are red and puffy and her cheeks blotchy. Lupin stands up straight, brushing himself off and fixing his hair. When she moves towards him again, slightly more composed, Lupin reacts instinctively, grabbing her by the arms and holding her still. “Let go of me,” she hisses. “Don’t touch me —”

“Then stop —” Lupin stops mid sentence and groans, looking at Emily, Carla, and Gemma, who are still standing in the threshold, and he lowers his hands. Darcy looks over her shoulder at them and notice their wide-eyed stares, all huddled together watching the two of them. “Ladies, could you give us a minute?”

“No!” Darcy snaps, turning to face her friends. “I will  _ not _ be left alone with you — you want me dead, don’t you? You lied to me —”

“ _ Ladies _ !” Lupin growls at them, and they all jump and scatter. “Give us a minute!”

Darcy’s friends hurry out of his chambers, slamming the door shut behind them. When Darcy and Lupin are alone, Darcy takes a few steps backwards, panting. “I heard everything,” she says through tears. “At Hogsmeade, I heard them talking about it —”

“Heard who?” Lupin asks, moving closer to her again. She flinches when he touches her, but allows him to lead her to the couch. They sit down together, as they have so many nights before, but this time Lupin sits closer to her than he ever has, but Darcy isn’t flustered. Instead, she moves away from him, putting as much distance between them as possible. “Who told you all of this?”

She falters, her quickening heart rate making her lightheaded. “They didn’t  _ tell _ me, I just — I overheard them,” she admits, swallowing the lump in her throat. “It was Hagrid, and Professor Flitwick and McGonagall, and Fudge was there — the Minister — he was the one who was telling the story and he said — he said —”

Darcy relays to him a brief version of the story that Fudge had told, complete with Hagrid’s version of events. Lupin listens closely, his face drained of all color, looking unnerved. Several times he looks off into the distance, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. When Darcy finishes, he’s quiet for a long time, and Darcy becomes frightened again, standing up from the couch and backing away from him. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I can explain why I never told you, Darcy,” he says again, standing up and moving towards her, his hands out as if to catch her from falling. “I need you to listen to me.”

“You helped him into the castle, didn’t you?”

“No —”

“You knew he was my godfather —”

“Yes, but —”

“You  _ knew _ he betrayed my parents —”

Lupin holds his hands out in front of him, opening and closing them. He clenches his teeth, and he raises his voice slightly. “Darcy, I —”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Darcy,  _ listen _ , please,” he begs, putting his hands on her shoulders, keeping her grounded. His thumb fingers the scars on her shoulder through her shirt. Lupin pauses, taking a moment to think, looking down at her. “Yes, I know that Sirius Black is your godfather, and I know Sirius Black was your parents Secret Keeper, but I —” He stops, visibly upset, and he squeezes her shoulders before letting go of her, running his hands through his hair. “I couldn’t tell you — you have so much on your plate, Darcy, and I couldn’t add to it.”

“No,” she whispers. “I don’t believe you.”

Lupin looks defeated. “Darcy,” he breathes. “I am sorry that I didn’t tell you, but I promise it was only because I didn’t want to frighten you — I didn’t want to add to your growing list of worries —”

“How did he get into Hogwarts?” she hisses, wiping the tears from her face. “How did he get past the dementors? You showed him a way, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Darcy wants to believe him, so badly. She wants to believe that he only wanted to protect her, to keep her from hurting, but she can’t. She shakes her head and looks away from him. “Tell me the truth,” she whispers. “You’re helping him. Why haven’t you done it already? Why haven’t you killed me? Why haven’t you killed Harry?”

“That’s — Darcy, you’re being ridiculous,” he scoffs. “I wouldn’t hurt either one of you and you know that.”

Darcy inhales deeply. “No, I’m not being ridiculous,” she says. “Why should I believe anything you say? I knew there had to be a catch — I knew that we couldn’t just have a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that —”

“I’m not helping Sirius Black!” he suddenly shouts, shutting Darcy up immediately. She stares at him with large eyes, her lips tight. “Come on, I — I care about — I would never — Darcy, you have to believe me, I am not helping Sirius Black and I do not want to hurt you. I would never —”

“Hurt me?” she finishes for him, laughing dryly. “But you already have —”

“And I’ve told you, I am so sorry,” he says, grabbing fistfuls of his hair, pacing in front of her. “I told you I would have done anything to make it up to you — that was an accident, and —” Lupin murmurs, looking at her shoulder, breathing heavily. “What can I do to make you believe me? I want you safe, Darcy, and I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she replies quietly. “What am I supposed to —”

Lupin shushes her, and after a long and heavy silence, he finally coerces her to sit back down on the couch. He keeps a shaky hand on her shoulder as they sit. “Just — stop talking, please,” he begs. “Just let me talk.”

Darcy quiets, and listens carefully. 

He seems to have trouble explaining himself, but once he gathers his thoughts, they all spill out of him at once and he stumbles over his words and stutters and pauses, but she gives him the chance to say everything. “I struggled for a long time after your parents died, Darcy,” he says. “They deserved life so much more than I did — they had you, and Harry, and I had nothing. I had no home, no job, no one to come home to. I would have died for them — you have to believe me.” Lupin gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I would never wish harm upon you or Harry. I care about you, Darcy. You’ve shown me a kindness than not many people have before, despite knowing what I am, and I cannot tell you enough how grateful I am to have been a teacher while you and Harry are here at Hogwarts.”

His touch gives her comfort and his voice soothes her and Darcy knows that he’s telling the truth. She knows that there are no lies behind his words — secrets, things kept to himself, maybe — but he is not lying to her. His eyes are honest eyes, and she watches as those honest eyes quickly glance at her lips for a split second. “I’m sorry,” she rasps, inching closer to him, but Lupin doesn’t seem to notice — or he notices it and ignores it. “It’s Sirius Black in my nightmare. He saves me from the house. He holds me.”

Lupin swallows. “It’s just a dream,” he replies, suddenly breathless. He lowers his hand from her shoulder and the warmth of his touch fades. “Nothing more.”

Darcy looks in his eyes, looks at his lips, looks back in his eyes. He’s so close, so close that she can feel his breath on her lips. Neither of them talk, but they both lean in, their foreheads touching, noses brushing against each other’s. While their lips don’t quite touch, their eyes are closed, and Darcy waits for him to kiss her full on the mouth, but it never comes.

She opens her eyes as Lupin pulls away suddenly, jumping to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry — you should go —”

She doesn’t argue or protest — just knowing that he’s almost kissed her makes her feel dizzy and all she wants is to leave and sort everything out. Lupin holds out his hand for her and she takes it. He lifts her off the couch and looks her over, wiping the single tear on her face off with his thumb. Lupin walks her to the door and opens it, and Darcy is surprised to see her friends still waiting in the office. Gemma is seated on Lupin’s desk, swinging her legs off the side, but she jumps down when the door opens. Emily is pacing, hands deep in her pockets, and Carla is sitting in Lupin’s chair, feet resting on the desk and leaning back on two legs.

Lupin doesn’t say anything, but nods to them all in acknowledgement and looks to the ground, retreating back inside his chambers. Darcy stands still for a minute, trying to process everything that’s just happened, looking at Emily. 

“What happened?” Gemma asks, leaning against the desk. “Is everything all right?”

Emily frowns, looking back at Darcy. “I’m sorry for what I said,” she utters. “It was wrong of me.”

Darcy shrugs, Emily’s hurtful words almost forgotten after what just happened inside of Lupin’s apartment. “It’s okay.” She inhales deeply, holding up her trembling hand. Darcy holds her hands together, but her entire body is shaking. “I… think I’m ready to go back to the common room now.”

Emily, Gemma, and Carla exchange worried looks as Darcy walks herself out of Lupin’s office slowly, as if in a trance. Gemma scoffs. “What just happened in there?”

Emily's mouth tightens. "Hopefully not what I think happened."

Gemma laughs. "That's ominous," she jokes. "What do you think happened? Do enlighten all of us."

Darcy lingers at the classroom door, waiting to see what Emily is going to say, but she says nothing. Emily calls her name and catches up to her, and they walk back to Gryffindor Tower in silence.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i've been lagging. i've been going to bed at like 9 every night and it's actually been wonderful

“Where’s Harry?”

Hermione looks up at Darcy from the sofa, cradling a book in her arms. Her eyes are shiny, cheeks damp from tears. Her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, making her face look tired and gaunt. “He’s in his dormitory,” she replies softly, holding out the book in her hands. “He wanted me to give you this. He marked a page.”

Darcy approaches slowly, taking the leather bound book from her hands. She holds it gingerly, turning it over, and smiles weakly at Hermione. “Thanks, Hermione.” She heads for the spiral staircase and Emily hesitates by the sofa, but decides to follow her. Darcy wishes she would stay with Hermione and leave her alone. All throughout dinner, Emily had talked as if nothing were wrong while Darcy moved her food around on her plate with her fork. The very thought that Emily could just brush something like this off enrages her, but Darcy’s hasn’t the heart to tell her best friend off  — afraid that if she were to push her old friend away that she wouldn’t come back during a time of need. 

Thankfully, none of the other girls have decided to come to bed yet. The dormitory is empty and Emily shuts the door behind her. Darcy flops onto her bed and Emily sits on top of her blankets, pulling a small chest out from under her bed, opening it to reveal several of her most treasured personal belongings — some books, nail polish, her favorite dress, pictures of her and her family. She takes one of the books and burrows into her bed, opening it to a marked page, but Darcy notices her eyes stare blankly at the page. She’s only thankful that Emily isn’t asking questions.

Darcy opens the book of photographs, ignoring the one that Harry’s marked. She wants to see them all again. The first few pages bring such joy to her and she smiles fondly at the pictures. Her parents wave up at her, smiling and laughing, hugging and holding hands and kissing each other’s cheeks in some pictures. She finds a picture of a her mother and father with a newborn baby — Darcy, sitting in her mother’s arms, her eyes still a deep, rich blue. Even as a baby, she looks small and lacking the round cheeks that Harry had been born with. 

When she sees the picture of her parents with herself and a tiny Harry, Darcy smiles. She touches her mother’s face, wanting nothing more than to feel her skin, to know that she’s real. She imagines her mother alive today, sitting in bed with Darcy with her arms wrapped around her. And when she turns the page, it’s to the page that Harry’s marked — a picture of their parents on their wedding day. Her mother looks beyond beautiful, almost angelic, her red hair tumbling down her shoulders and back in loose waves, bringing out the green in her eyes. Her dress is white as snow, the long sleeves lacy. Her father looks just as he does in every photograph of him — messy, dark hair sticking up, a wide smile on his face. The both of them are about the same age as Darcy is now, and Darcy examines her mother’s face, aware of the resemblance between them when she looks in the mirror, but she sees her father in her, too. His pointed nose, full lips, long eyelashes. At his side, hugging his leg tight with a nervous look about her is Darcy, still a toddler, her long, auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun, clad in a cream colored dress that she wouldn’t be caught dead in at this age.

And standing beside her father, careful not to step on Darcy, is his best man — a man that, before, Darcy hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about. But it’s so obvious now — it’s so painfully obvious that it’s Sirius Black now that she looks at him carefully. His dark hair stops shy of his shoulder, wavy and unruly, clean and silky. His smile is bright and contagious and he has an arm around Darcy’s father’s shoulder. Darcy can’t help but think he’s incredibly handsome.

Darcy shudders and closes the book immediately. All these long months of dreaming, of feeling the faceless man’s loving embrace as he plucks her from the rubble of what had been her home. All those months of wondering who it is, why he’s so familiar to her. She remembers Hagrid’s words too clearly.

_ Poor Darcy cried the whole time — she wouldn’t let go of him… I had to pry her off Black’s chest… _

She touches Sirius’s face, smiling weakly. How many times had he held her as a baby? How many times had he been there to wipe her tears? How many times had he played with her, smiled at her? Did he ever really love her? In her dreams he does, and she knows that she loves —  _ loved _ — him too. But the idea of it makes her sick to her stomach and she closes the book, looking to Emily. She wishes it were Harry on the bed beside her instead. Harry would understand, he would talk to her, he would need comforting and she could give it to him. Darcy stuffs the photo album under her bed, laying back on her pillow and sighing heavily.

“It’s Sirius Black,” she says. Emily closes her book slowly and turns to her friend. “In my dreams, it’s Sirius Black pulling me from the rubble.”

Emily hesitates, and Darcy sees the discomfort and unease cross her face. “It’s just a dream,” she replies. 

But it’s not, and she can’t blame Emily for not understanding that, she can’t blame Lupin for not understanding, either. It’s not  _ just a dream _ to her, it’s a memory. But how could she possibly explain that without coming across as insane? “That’s what Lupin said,” Darcy mutters, closing her eyes. 

Emily repositions herself in her bed, tucking her feet under her. Darcy has a feeling she won’t like the words that come out of her friend next, and she’s absolutely right. “That wasn’t the first time you’ve been in his — er — chambers, was it?” Emily asks quietly.

Rage boils in Darcy. After all that she’d heard, after all  _ they _ had heard, Emily can’t help but to bring up Lupin. Darcy has to admit to herself that even if Emily had waited months to ask, Darcy still would be just as irritated, but to ask  _ now _ , after everything that has just happened, she can barely contain her anger. “What does it matter?” Darcy snaps, pulling the blankets up to her chin and turning her back on Emily. 

She opens and closes her mouth a few times, searching for a reply. “I suppose it doesn’t,” Emily finally says, but she still sounds curious. Darcy can feel her eyes boring a hole into the back of her head, but thankfully Emily has no more to say.

When Darcy closes her eyes, sleep comes to her easily, too easily. All of her crying has left her exhausted, and staying awake with all this new information is too overwhelming. All day she’d feared the dreams that would come during the night, afraid to see Sirius Black’s terrible, evil face. And she does see Sirius Black’s face in her dreams tonight, but it’s not the ugly, gaunt face that chokes her until her throat is raw and her eyes are bulging — it’s the handsome face she sees as he pulls her from the debris, holding her close to his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped tight around her small, four-year-old body. Darcy has learned by now that she cannot control what she does in her dreams, but she’s glad that the Darcy in her dream nuzzles into his chest. Compared to her other dreams, this one is a salvation, and when Sirius’s face dissolves before her eyes, she almost cries out to him, to beg him to come back and hold her if only just for a little while. 

As Sirius’s face fades away completely, Lupin’s face appears, lined and scarred. She can feel his hand upon her cheek, his warm skin against her’s. He smiles at her then, his eyes crinkling — a true smile, his thin lips widening until he’s grinning from ear to ear, laughing softly, and then he leans in and kisses her hard on the lips, his fingers tangling in her hair. He’s still smiling as he kisses her, a deep kiss, a kiss full of longing...

Darcy’s eyes open just a sliver. The moonlight filters in through the window by her bed, casting a light on her face. The wind rattles her window, howling. The blankets are bunched up at her feet, her face half buried in her pillow, and all around her, her friends snore softly. She lays still for a few minutes, the last of her dreams still swirling in her head.

_ He wanted to kiss me _ .

She rolls over, groaning, pulling her blankets back up. Emily’s sleeping hard, her mouth wide open, one arm hanging off the side of her bed. Darcy wonders briefly what Emily thinks happened behind Lupin’s door as she and the rest of their friends waited. She wonders what Emily would say if she told her what had actually happened behind Lupin’s door. Darcy would be lying to herself if she said she’d never thought about it, because she had — several times, actually. But she never meant for it to go so far, to be mere inches from his lips, her forehead resting against his. She never meant to actually do it, she only thought about it, dreamed about it — a school girl’s fantasy, that’s all. 

But had he really wanted to kiss her? Darcy remembers how quickly he’d pulled away from her, how quickly he asked her to leave. But for those few seconds, Darcy had thought Lupin was going to kiss her, and she’d been ready for it, she had  _ wanted _ it, and she had been so flustered about all of it that she hadn’t realized how excited she was, how ready she was to finally feel what his lips would feel like against her’s.

_ He’s your teacher _ .  _ It’s inappropriate for him to be so close to you. He’s old enough to be your father. He shouldn’t be abusing his position like this. _ She can hear her internal argument in Emily’s shrill voice, and it rings in her head. Emily’s voice of reason has been one and the same with Darcy’s own mind since first year. Typically, Emily’s voice decides to pop in and make its case before Darcy decides to do something stupid with a stupid boy, or something really stupid like following Harry in through a trapdoor guarded by a three-headed dog or even following Harry into the Chamber of Secrets like a fool. The only time she doesn’t hear Emily’s voice in her head is when Emily is right beside her, but even then, she has to listen to the real thing. And sometimes listening to Emily chastise her is hard, and Darcy can never look her in the eyes for a few minutes afterwards.

“It was nothing,” she breathes, making herself comfortable again. Darcy listens as the wind dies down outside, the absolute silence suffocating her. “Nothing.”

Emily wakes Darcy gently in the morning, whispering in her ear about leaving for the holidays. Darcy had almost forgotten, but she bids her friend a sleepy goodbye and Emily kisses her cheek before she leaves the dormitory, chatting with the other girls, all of whom normally go home during the break. Darcy falls back asleep quickly, enjoying the dormitory to herself, and she wakes well after lunch, her stomach growling. She lays there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, hands tucked behind her head.

The same three things cycle through her head for what seems like hours — her parents dying, Sirius Black rescuing her and giving her up, and her and Lupin’s “almost kiss”. Every time she pictures the green flash of light that precedes her mother crumpling on Harry’s bedroom floor, she shudders, but each time she relives it, her mother’s face gets blurrier and blurrier until there is no face, and her mother is as faceless as Sirius Black had been in her dreams before she realized he was Sirius Black. And when she does picture Sirius afterwards, she’s conflicted between her feelings. One on hand, the thought of knowing that she could have been rescued — could have been raised in a home where she was loved and cared for — makes her grieve. There is no denying the love that Darcy feels —  _ felt _ , she reminds herself every time — for Sirius when she was younger. Or is that just her dreams? What if Emily and Lupin had been right, and it  _ was _ just a dream? It seems so real to her, though, and the way that her legs ache when she wakes afterwards, the feeling of being wanted and loved and sometimes the feeling of dread…

Then there’s Lupin. Darcy feels as if she can never face him again, never look him in the eyes now that he knows she would have let him kiss her. She’s glad that she had closed her eyes, glad that she’s ignorant to his thoughts. The memory makes her flush a deep red, but at the same time, she relishes it. She tries not to dwell too long on the thought, but whenever she stops thinking about Lupin, her thoughts wander back to Sirius Black. It’s a never ending cycle, and she can’t decide who she’d rather think about.

It’s only at that moment does she remember the conversation she’d had with Mr. Weasley at the Leaky Cauldron, before term started. _And people might try to feed you information, but you mustn’t listen to them, all right? The most important thing is that Harry stays far away from Sirius Black…_ Darcy closes her eyes and sighs. _He knew_ , she thinks. _He knows_. She suddenly feels like running to the owlery, sending an angry letter to Mr. Weasley. But she softens at the thought of Mr. Weasley receiving an angry letter from her — she doesn’t want Mr. Weasley to feel bad or feel sorry about telling her information he probably should never have told her in the first place. And if Mrs. Weasley were to read the letter (and Darcy is sure that she would), she may get angry at Mr. Weasley for what he told Darcy. 

Darcy groans again. She doesn’t want  _ anyone _ to be angry, or upset, or disappointed — she doesn’t want anyone else to feel the way that she does.

When she does retire down to the common room, Harry, Hermione, and Ron are sitting by the fire, looking solemn. “Hey,” Darcy says slowly, looking the three of them over. 

Hermione and Ron give Harry a meaningful look, and before Darcy can ask what’s going on, Harry is walking with her back up the steps, to his dormitory. Harry collapses onto his bed and Darcy sits at the foot of his bed, waiting with wide eyes. For a long time, Harry doesn’t speak, only rubs his eyes and cleans his glasses, then rubs his eyes again. 

“How are you?” she suddenly says, but it sounds forced and she wishes she hadn’t said it. Darcy wants to gather Harry in her arms and comfort him instead of talking. She wants to feel useful, but Harry seems stiff and cold, so she doesn’t make a move to help him.

Harry watches her, his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m angry,” he finally answers, laughing in disbelief. It seems so long ago to Darcy that he was a little boy; he seems so grown now, armed with information that has changed him from a boy to a man. Sometimes Darcy finds it hard to believe that he’s only thirteen, and at the thought, her heart breaks. “Did you see the page I marked in the photo album?”

Darcy nods. “I can’t believe I never noticed it was him,” she shrugs. “I feel so stupid.”

“Where did you go?” Harry asks quietly. “After you heard everything, where was the first place you went?”

Darcy hesitates, but doesn’t think lying will help. “I went to Professor Lupin,” she admits. “To ask about what I’d heard. I didn’t know who else to go to.”

Harry looks at her expectantly. “What did he say?”

“It’s true,” she sighs. “It’s all true. He knew — he  _ knew _ about it all.” Darcy pulls her knees to her chest, and she feels a surge of affection for her little brother. “Do you remember when I told you about my dream? About the person who pulls me from the ruins of our house?”

He understands. “It’s Sirius Black.”

“Yeah,” Darcy laughs nervously. “Yeah, it’s him. Just like Hagrid said.” She wonders if Harry will dismiss her dream just as easily as Lupin and Emily had, and her blood boils. They had believed her quick enough when she had told them about the dream of her mother’s murder — when she had told them, they both had been slightly uncomfortable knowing that Darcy remembers, so why couldn’t they believe that she remembers Sirius rescuing her?  _ They’re only trying to help _ , she thinks.  _ They don’t want me to be afraid. _ “You think I’m making it up,” she adds after Harry is quiet for a long while.

“No, I don’t,” Harry retorts, scrunching his nose. “I never said that. I believe you.”

Darcy smiles fondly at her brother, but her smile fades away after a split second. “Hagrid knew, as well,” she whispers. Her head begins to pound and she wants to go back to sleep, to forget that all of this had ever happened. “Why wouldn’t he tell us?”

Harry shifts and grows visibly angry. “We can talk about that later,” he says, and Harry clenches his jaw at the thought. “We went to see Hagrid today.”

She frowns. “Did you ask him why he decided to keep such an important detail of our life —”

“They set a date for the hearing.”

“Wh —?” Darcy stutters. “What hearing? Hagrid’s? They aren’t going to fire him for the hippogriff, are they?”

“Buckbeak’s hearing.” Harry licks his lips. “I was  _ going _ to ask him why he never told me about Sirius Black because, I know, we should have known, but — Hagrid gave us the letter and I couldn’t ask him then. I couldn’t. Malfoy’s dad put in a complaint —”

She scoffs. “It’s a death sentence,” she hisses, suddenly furious. “The Ministry will do whatever Lucius Malfoy wants them to do. Surely Hagrid knows that.”

“Of course he does — well, I’m sure he thinks…” Harry messes up his dark hair. “We’ve got to help him, Darcy. We can’t just do nothing. He’s our friend.”

“What are we supposed to do?” she asks. “The Ministry won’t want anything we can offer them.”

“We were in the library for a bit today researching previous cases to help prepare for Buckbeak’s defense.”

“And have you found anything?”

“Well, no…” Harry shrugs his shoulders. It seems there’s nothing else he has to say about it, and from his back pocket, he retrieves a large piece of parchment, blank and folded up multiple times. He looks up at her, as if waiting for a reaction, and he places it on the bed between them. “There is one more thing.”

Darcy cocks an eyebrow, looking at Harry incredulously. Then, to her belief, she laughs. “What is this?” she scoffs. “I’m not writing another essay of yours — Lupin’s onto me —”

“It’s not — no, look. I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.” And at those words, ink flourishes on the parchment, covering it with lines and boxes, making the parchment look to have veins. Then, clear writing appears on the front. Harry spins the parchment around so she can read it.

“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs…” Darcy looks at her brother suspiciously, unfolding the map with fingers. As she opens it up, she sees dots moving about what looks like a blueprint — then she realizes that it’s Hogwarts — every broom closet, every classroom, every dormitory, it’s all there. She sees passages that lead out of Hogwarts that she hasn’t ever seen before, but the most incredible thing are the dots — dots with names above them that move down corridors and in office. She finds  _ Albus Dumbledore _ pacing in his office, and in the Gryffindor dormitory, she sees  _ Darcy Potter  _ and  _ Harry Potter  _ sitting perfectly still. Darcy stares in awe at the map, rereading the names on the front. 

“What is this?” she asks, thinking. “Who are these people? ‘The Marauders Map’. I don’t know what that means.”

Harry shrugs, a smirk forming on his lips. “It’s how I got into Hogsmeade,” he explains. “Fred and George gave it to me. They said they got it from Filch.”

Darcy laughs with her brother for a moment, but talking about Hogsmeade reminds her of something. She wonders what Harry would say if she were to tell him about Mr. Weasley’s job offer, but she’s afraid that Harry will make her feel guilty just by looking at her, just by giving her a wide-eyed look. Darcy folds the map back up and pushes it towards Harry, pursing her lips and struggling to find words. She decides to keep her secret tucked away for a little while longer, until she and Harry are in a better mental state.

“Mischief managed,” Harry murmurs, and in seconds, all the writing and drawings disappear from the parchment. He looks at her with a heavy gaze, but Harry leans forward and hugs her tight, surprising her. 

She buries her face in his shoulder, feeling the burn of fresh tears building in her eyes, and she knows that she will never be able to take Mr. Weasley up on his offer. 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg !! i love this chapter idk

Sleep does not come so easily that night. She lies awake, with nothing but her thoughts, until the sun peeks out from behind the snowy peaks of distant mountains. Exhausted, Darcy drags herself out of bed for breakfast as the sun begins to rise in earnest and light floods her dormitory. Part of her is glad Emily is gone — she never would have let Darcy walk out of the portrait hole looking this way. She refuses to brush her hair, too exhausted to even drag a comb through it once, and there are dark circles under her heavy eyes. Even Sir Cadogan shouts after her about finding a brush somewhere, but she only hisses at him to shut up. Darcy shuffles through the corridors alone, not bothering to wait for Harry and his friends. 

The castle is completely silent devoid of her dragging feet, and completely still. With the snow that continues to fall around the castle, the halls are chilly, and Darcy wraps her arms around herself, wishing she’d worn something warmer. As she makes her way down to the Great Hall, the smells of breakfast find their way to her. The smell of eggs and bacon and butter intoxicates her, and she quickens her steps.

When she finally does make it to the Great Hall, she finds that she’s not the first one there. Dumbledore is seated atop the small platform that raises the teachers table a foot or so off the ground, giving them a good view of all the students. Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Lupin are there, as well — Dumbledore and McGonagall both acknowledge Darcy with small smiles, Lupin gives her a nod, and Snape watches her for a moment, looking away when she takes her seat at the Gryffindor table. Food has already been served, though it’s nothing like the usual feasts — the house elves have definitely cut back on the food, but there’s more than enough for Darcy to eat her fill, plus a few more platefuls.

A single Gryffindor is seated at the long table, a doe-eyed first year with blonde hair sticking up in the back, clad in his robes. Darcy chuckles to herself at the sight of him, sitting up straight before his plate, piled with sausages and picking at them nervously with his fork. She sits a few seats down from him, on the opposite side, and helps herself to some food.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron join Darcy twenty minutes later, looking tired. Harry seats himself across from his sister and next to Ron; Hermione sits beside Darcy, promptly scooping some fresh fruit onto her plate. Darcy sips at her coffee, letting its warmth spread throughout her body. The Great Hall is comfortable this morning, twelve enormous Christmas trees spread throughout, pushed back against each of the four walls, partly white from the enchanted snow that sprinkles on them from above. The sconces around the hall give off enough warmth to keep Darcy content, like a heavy blanket that’s been draped over her. 

The four of them eat in silence, enjoying their food. Max is the only owl that flies into the Great Hall that morning and he gives her the day’s paper. As she thumbs through it, she feeds him the fatty bits of bacon she hasn’t eaten, and Harry allows the owl to eat one of his sausages. Max takes it gratefully and nuzzles into her, nipping affectionately at her ear. Darcy laughs and strokes his feathers, smiling at her owl. With every passing day, she finds him cuter and cuter, and he is just as fond of her as she is of him, it seems. Plus, it helps that Max will never say no to a quick, warm snuggle, and sometimes that’s all she needs.

_ At least I know you’ll never lie to me, or hurt me. All you’ll ever do is be good to me _ , she thinks, scratching under Max’s chin before he takes off, flying back through the window and towards the owlery. 

Instead of going back to sleep after breakfast, Darcy decides to enjoy the comforts of the Great Hall as much as she can. She does accompany Hermione to the library first, making good on her promise to Harry to help with Buckbeak’s case. Darcy takes out all the books she think may help, and though Madam Pince gives her a wary and suspicious glare, lets her borrow them anyway. Hermione politely declines Darcy’s offer to join her in the Great Hall, staying in the library instead, but Darcy’s partially grateful, wanting to be alone much more.

Darcy spreads out at the Gryffindor table once more, pouring over several old books with photographs that depict headless hippogriffs with their heads rolling out of the frame, werewolves being subdued by powerful spells, and even a drawing of a troll crushing several wizards and witches with its oversized club, looking quite like the troll that had once roamed Hogwarts’ corridors and bathrooms. All of the books are dreadfully dull, and Darcy has a hard time finding anything that would help strengthen Buckbeak’s case, but she doesn’t want to give up. She has all day to read these books, and Harry’s right — Hagrid is their friend. Maybe Darcy isn’t the greatest of his friends, but the least she can do is offer her help to him in his time of need, despite her mixed feelings towards him at the moment.

She also doesn’t fail to notice the teachers checking on her from time to time. They rotate, as if in shifts, but every so often she looks up to see either McGonagall, or Sprout, or even Dumbledore smiling at her from the doorway. Darcy takes to ignoring them, too tired to get upset. She hopes that Madam Pomfrey may pop in, however, looking forward to asking about something to help her sleep without having to dream. But Madam Pomfrey doesn’t pop in, and Darcy becomes so engrossed in her research that she soon forgets about being watched over. She scribbles some dates and and notes down on parchment, putting exclamation points beside the important ones that may be of some help. 

Darcy spends a long time in the Great Hall, time slipping away. Max visits once, to sit on one of her books, and he keeps Darcy company for a little while before he grows bored and impatient and hungry and flies back through the open window.

“ _ The Evolution of Magical Creatures from 1200 to 1600 _ . Hm — considering a career change?” 

She looks up to find Lupin looking through one of the bigger books. He meets her eyes as she lowers her quill and closes  _ The History of the Hippogriff: Volume IV. _ “To help Hagrid,” she rasps. She hadn’t realized how dry her throat is and hopes that lunch is sooner than later. “They’ve set a date for the hearing. For his hippogriff.”

Lupin’s small smile fades and he slowly puts the book back on the table. Darcy watches him, narrowing her eyes.

“What?”

“The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures won’t hear a word of it,” Lupin says softly. “The entire Beast Division — well, the whole Department is made up of stubborn folks. Nothing will change their minds no matter what evidence or defense you lay before them.”

Darcy stares at him with blank eyes. “I thank you for your kind words of encouragement. Makes me feel like I’m not wasting my time,” she replies coldly. “Professor McGonagall was just here not forty-five minutes ago to check on me. I’m fine. Don’t think I haven’t noticed them poking their heads through the doors to get a good look at me.”

Lupin rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “May I sit?”

She shrugs and gestures for him to sit. Lupin settles himself on the low bench across from her, putting his hands on the table. Darcy opens her book again, scanning the pages for something that could help, but Lupin’s words ring in her head and she knows that he’s probably right, that it’s highly unlikely for the hippogriff to get off with its head still attached to its body. She barely comprehends anything, her eyes glued to one spot, rereading the same sentence over and over again.

Lupin looks around the hall, glancing over both shoulders. He leans in closer to her, but Darcy ignores him, focused on her book. “Darcy, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Sirius Black,” he whispers. “I didn’t think it was my place to tell you. Had you asked, I would have given you the complete truth, but I didn’t think I was the right person for you to hear it from.”

“I’d rather have heard it from you,” she says, looking up at him. Darcy sees his face soften when she meets his eyes. She thinks of what happened between them behind closed doors and she sighs, suddenly flushed. He doesn’t look well, but he never does look  _ great _ . She can’t say anything, though, because she’s sure she looks just as bad. But he’s still as handsome as ever, and Darcy feels her heart begin to race. “I’m sorry that I hit you.”

Lupin smiles weakly. “You were angry,” he answers. “I suppose I can find it in my heart to forgive you. I did deserve it, didn’t I? After everything?”

Darcy’s shoulder twinges and she flinches, hoping Lupin doesn’t notice, but when she looks up again, Darcy sees that his eyes have found her shoulder. “You aren’t going to give me a detention, are you?”

“Only Professor Snape would be cruel enough to hand out detentions over Christmas break,” Lupin japes, laughing softly to himself and tearing his eyes away from her shoulder. “No, I won’t give you a detention. Consider it your Christmas gift.”

“Thank you,” Darcy says. “Still, I’m sorry.”

“It could have been worse.”

“You think so?” 

“You could have slapped me. I know the kind of devastation that your hand can bring. I witnessed it first hand, remember?”

There’s a heavy silence that falls over them for three seconds, and then Lupin smiles and his smile is contagious — they both start laughing heartily. He brushes his shaggy brown hair back from his eyes, and Darcy glances at his lips. For a split second, Darcy wonders what he would do if she were to reach out across the table and put her hand on his, but she decides against it, afraid that someone might walk in and see them. 

“Not one of my finest moments,” she admits. “But I suppose it did get the point across.” She nearly melts at the fact that he continues to smile at her. “Maybe we could go for a walk?”

Lupin nods and examines her face, his eyes flicking from her eyes to her lips. “Have you slept at all?”

“No,” Darcy replies, sighing heavily. “I can’t. But I did drink three cups of coffee at breakfast, so I think I’ll be fine.”

“Go get some rest, love.”

She shakes her head. “I could use some fresh air, though,” Darcy suggests.

Lupin seems hesitant for a moment and his smile falters. “It’s cold out.”

“I’m not afraid of the cold,” she says. “I own a coat, you know.”

“We’ll miss lunch.”

“I won’t starve to death if we do.”

He considers her carefully, stroking the coarse hair on his face. “All right. Let me help you carry your books back to your common room, at the least.” Lupin looks down at all the books that surround her. “These must weigh a hundred pounds combined.”

Darcy blushes. “Thank you.”

Thirty minutes later, the both of them wearing several layers, Lupin escorts Darcy out the main doors of Hogwarts into the courtyard. The snow comes up to the middle of Darcy’s shins, soft and powdery. The wind carries the fresh snow all around them, and soon her red hair is wet and the tip of her nose reddens. Lupin’s cheeks are bright red before they make it out of the courtyard and onto the grounds, and he walks slowly through the snow as it deepens on the uneven ground. Darcy moves at a slower pace, as well, her arm hooked around his. She pulls her scarf up over her mouth and regrets coming outside at all, wanting nothing more than to be warming herself by a fire and defrosting her fingers. 

She becomes increasingly paranoid and embarrassed, assuming that sooner or later, Lupin will surely bring up their almost-kiss. It’s not like he can forget it happened — it  _ did _ happen.  _ He’s ignoring it. If he doesn’t talk about it, it didn’t happen _ . Maybe that’s for the best, she thinks. Maybe she doesn’t want to know what he thinks about the situation. But if he doesn’t say something soon, she’ll burst, and she doesn’t want to be the one to bring it up.

Lupin leads Darcy to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, to the clearing where they’d sat once before. It seems so long ago now to Darcy; she had hung from the tree’s branch when it was dry, swinging beside him. Raising his eyebrows as if to impress her, he waves his wand and clears them a spot on the large, flat rock. It’s still a little damp, but it’s a place to sit and Darcy takes it eagerly, pulling her feet from the snow and shivering. She knocks her boots against the rock, shaking off the snow, watching Lupin do the same thing. Darcy growls to herself, feeling her ass growing wet through her pants.

“Mr. Weasley offered me a job,” she suddenly says. It’s like a weight is lifted off her chest after her announcement. Lupin smiles at her. “It’s nothing exciting — unpaid, actually. An internship. I’d be working as his assistant.”

“That’s wonderful, Darcy!” Lupin exclaims. “When does it start?”

She laughs in disbelief. “As soon as I graduate, actually.”

Lupin flashes her a genuine smile. “I’m so happy for you.”

She frowns, hugging her arms about herself. “I can’t take it,” she whispers. “I can’t abandon Harry.”

“Harry will understand,” Lupin assures her. “Getting a job at the Ministry is hard work, but you’re a smart girl — you’ll rise through the ranks before you know it, and Harry will forget ever being upset.”

Darcy appreciates his attempts to cheer her, but it doesn’t help. She looks up at the castle beyond the thin trees, getting to her feet and brushing the snow off her. Lupin watches her from the rock, running a hand through his hair angrily to allow the snow to fall from it. The wet makes his hair look darker and it stays put for once, keeping out of his face. Darcy smiles fondly at him, feeling a surge of affection for Lupin. 

“Lost in thought again?” he asks gently.

She nods slowly, turning back towards the castle. “I remember being so excited about going to Hogwarts my first year,” she remembers. The wind seems to die down and the branches of the trees scrape together all around her. “Harry did nothing but cry, from the night before I left up until Vernon and Petunia dropped me off at the station. Even his crying couldn’t discourage me then — I was just happy to leave Privet Drive for such a long time.” At the memory of seven-year-old Harry’s red and swollen eyes, she cringes. Those eyes would absolutely break her now. “But when I got to Hogwarts, it wasn’t right. I had friends — wonderful friends — Emily, and Carla, and Gemma. But Hogwarts was never home for me until Harry came. Nowhere will ever be home without Harry.”

Darcy sighs and closes her eyes. She hears the crunch of snow and knows Lupin has gotten to his feet, as well. He steps up beside her, shielding his eyes from the sun and looking up towards the castle with her. “I never thought I would be able to attend Hogwarts,” Lupin admits, lowering his hand. Darcy glances at him. “But Dumbledore was kind enough to invite me — he took extra precautions, made sure that I and all the others would be safe, all so I could try to live a normal life. But, being back years later… it’s not the same. Hogwarts is a better home than I’ve had in years — I eat well, I am able to sleep on a comfortable bed, I have a stable job, but — it’s not the same without my friends.”

“My parents,” she breathes. Darcy tucks her hair behind her ears, feeling guilty. “I’m so sorry. I know this all must be so hard for you, and all I ever talk about is myself.”

“It’s all right,” he tells her. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m sorry. Please know that I do understand. I know this is all so hard for you and —”

“You make it easier,” Lupin says, so quietly that she isn’t sure he said it at all. 

Darcy’s heart stops for a second and her breath catches. She looks up at him, feeling breathless. Lupin still looks up at Hogwarts, his face red from cold.  _ Now or never _ , she tells herself.  _ No one is here but us. No one can see us. No one will know _ . But she hesitates, her chest beginning to heave beneath her heavy coat.  _ The worst that could happen is rejection, and I’ve been denied by boys before. And if he does reject me, I’ll always have that night to remember.  _ She tries to calm herself, but she isn’t sure she can do it.  _ If he rejects me, I’ll have to look at his face everyday and feel nothing but shame. And he’ll have to look at my face and he’ll know that I have feelings for him like some stupid girl _ .

She can hear Emily screaming in her head to stop, to go back to the common room, to turn and walk away from Lupin. Everything about this is wrong, and Darcy knows it, but she can't bring herself to stop. Lupin is her friend, her dear friend, someone she cares about. Lupin is the recipient of her deepest secrets, someone she's almost kissed. Someone she still wants to kiss.

With a violently quivering hand, Darcy slowly moves it towards his own, forcing herself to look straight ahead. She’s blushing like a little schoolgirl, suddenly feeling the need to vomit. Her fingers brush against his and at their brief contact, Lupin flinches, as if her touch has shocked him. Horrified, Darcy starts to pull her hand away, but before she can move it very far, Lupin grabs her hand and gives it a slight squeeze. They continue looking up at Hogwarts, both of them shivering (or trembling due to nerves — she isn’t quite sure), and Darcy smiles.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's so SHORT

The next morning at breakfast, as everyone finishes and the food begins to disappear from the tables, Dumbledore approaches Darcy and begs a private word, giving each of her friends and her brother a small smile and an acknowledging nod. She looks to Harry for an encouraging smile, and he obliges, and then she glances at the teacher’s table, but Lupin is deep in conversation with Professor McGonagall. Darcy stands and follows Dumbledore silently through the corridors until they reach his office, where she follows him up the spiral staircase. 

Darcy has only been to Dumbledore’s office on a few occasions, most of the time with Harry at her side, but being alone in his office makes her uneasy. She has never cared for the portraits that cover the walls, portraits of old Headmasters and Headmistresses. Some are sleeping and snoring, but most of their eyes are fixed upon Darcy as she takes a seat at Dumbledore’s desk and he settles into his overlarge chair across from her. It’s uncomfortably warm in his office, despite there being no fire.

Dumbledore smiles at her for a few minutes, or what feels like a few minutes. She can’t meet his eyes, but looks at her shoes, her mind bringing forward every possible thing she’s done in her seven years at Hogwarts that could possibly warrant a call to Dumbledore’s office, but there is one in particular that comes to mind and her heart sinks.  _ He knows _ , she thinks, horrified.  _ He knows about Lupin and me. He saw us. Someone told him. He’s going to expel me and fire him. _

“I am not sure if congratulations are in order,” Dumbledore begins finally, and Darcy sits in a stunned silence, looking up into his face. He smiles at her genially.

“I — I’m sorry, Professor?”

Dumbledore chuckles. “Arthur told me he was planning on offering you a job at the Ministry,” he replies. “Did he not? Or did he ask and get refused?”

Darcy clears her throat, sitting up straight in the high-backed chair and crossing one leg over the other. “Yes, he offered,” Darcy answers quietly. “I told him I’d think about it, but I’ve been… distracted, and haven’t really had the time.”

He doesn’t seem very surprised at her response. “Forgive me, Darcy,” Dumbledore says, resting his hands atop his desk. Darcy frowns at him. “But I was under the impression that you wanted to enter the Ministry after graduating. If I may ask — why does his offer give you such pause?”

She considers him, unsure if she wants to tell the truth or not. With Dumbledore, however, there’s always a risk that he already knows the answer to the question he’s asking. Darcy looks down into her lap, his gaze far too intense for her liking. “It’s — it’s not the position I had hoped for,” she answers, partly truthful. Darcy looks back into his blue, blue eyes and falters. Lowering her voice, she adds, “I am not ready to leave Harry, sir.”

“You are a good sister, Darcy, and Harry is extremely lucky to have you,” he tells her softly. Darcy can’t help but to smile. 

“Thank you, sir.”

When she looks at him next, she isn’t positive, but she thinks she sees a flash of pity in his eyes for only the briefest of moments. She slumps her shoulders, sighing. Dumbledore takes a long time to respond, and the small smile on his face slowly disappears, making him look grave. “There are so many things you do not yet know, Darcy,” he whispers. Darcy thinks about this, unsure of what things he could be talking about. “I am glad you are not ready to leave Harry. There will come a day when you will have to let him go, but there is still time.”

Darcy blinks at him. “What?” she asks. “What don’t I know?”

“You will learn, in time,” Dumbledore answers. Darcy purses her lips. “Would you do a very old man a favor, Darcy?”

“Of course, sir. What is it?”

Dumbledore smiles at her again. “When the time comes and you are a graduate of this prestigious school,” he starts, his eyes twinkling, “I ask only that you stay at your aunt and uncle’s house. Harry will be gone by autumn and I know that Arthur Weasley will not cease to ask you about his offer until you finally accept or find another position. Lately, however, I have been appreciating a thought of mine that I think you will enjoy very much.”

“Stay at my aunt and uncle’s house throughout the school year?” Darcy shakes her head slightly. “Harry will be gone for school — I’ll be alone — sir, please, I promise I’ll come back during the summer at least —”

“May I make my offer before you refuse it?” he asks politely, and Darcy hesitates before she nods. “I have no wish to separate you and your brother. I know you are very close and care very dearly for each other, and I am not so big a fool as others may think — I know that Harry attracts trouble wherever he is. Which is why I have been thinking, perhaps you’d like to come back to Hogwarts? That is, unless, you have your sights set on the Ministry already, in which case I fear I may have waited too long to ask you and the fault rests with me and only me.”

“Come back to Hogwarts?” Darcy repeats softly, chewing on her bottom lip. “You mean…  _ live _ at Hogwarts?”

“And work,” Dumbledore answers with a small nod. “Surely you don’t think me a fool, as well, Darcy? Who knows what kind of trouble you might get in with all the time in the world to explore Hogwarts and all its secrets?”

“What would I do, sir?”

Dumbledore stands from his chair and begins to pace around his office, fingering his many trinkets and stopping by the empty perch where Fawkes typically sits. Finally, he looks out of his window, down upon the white grounds of Hogwarts with his back to Darcy. “You take after your mother,” Dumbledore tells her, and Darcy finds it safe to look at him again without having to worry about whatever he might read on her face. “With all that you’ve inherited from her, you’ve also inherited her Potion-making skills.”

Darcy’s heart sinks. She knows now where Dumbledore is going with this, and as much as the idea of working at Hogwarts tempts her… “No, no, no, no,” Darcy scoffs, thinking afterwards that maybe she’s being too rude. “I’m sorry, and I appreciate it, sir, but —  _ no _ .”

He turns around, and to Darcy’s surprise, he’s laughing to himself. “Is it the prospect of helping teach Potions or working closely with Professor Snape that discourages you?”

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, feeling her face growing warm. “It’s not that —”

“For what it’s worth, Professor Snape has agreed to take you into his classroom if you are willing to work,” Dumbledore replies, noticing her discomfort. “I know that this is something you need to think on, Darcy, so I will leave our conversation there for the night. Think on my offer, and return when you have your answer, whether it be yes or no. I look forward to discussing it more with you.”

There are so many questions in Darcy’s head, but  _ why?  _ is the biggest one. In her seven years at Hogwarts, there hasn’t ever been an assistant to any teacher, nor a teacher fresh out of Hogwarts. While she can’t say that it’s a terrible offer — she would get to be at Hogwarts for another year, with Harry, with Carla, and she’d have a real job, though not one she really wants — it seems odd that Dumbledore would be so dedicated to keeping Harry and Darcy together unless he suspects something will happen in the following year. Or perhaps he’s just being cautious, she thinks. Regardless, she suddenly feels that the start of next term can’t begin soon enough, and she itches to see her friends and get their opinions on the matter.

Before she can say anymore, Dumbledore offers Darcy a hand and she takes it, getting to her feet. The Headmaster walks her to the door, but stops her as she crosses the threshold. Darcy turns and Dumbledore is smiling at her apologetically, making her slightly more nervous.

“There is just one more thing,” he adds quickly, giving her a once over. Darcy shivers as his eyes wash over her, and she feels naked and suddenly vulnerable. “I am glad that you have found in Professor Lupin a friend, given the incident at the start of the year.”

Darcy blushes in earnest and looks away from him. “Yes, sir,” she replies softly. 

“Oh, Darcy, I am even embarrassed to bring it up around you in fear of sounding foolish, but I just want to remind you that Professor Lupin is still your teacher, despite his convenient connection to your parents and your past, and it would be inappropriate to ignore any boundaries set in place while still a student at Hogwarts.” Dumbledore sweeps back to his desk and sits down, and Darcy is frozen to the spot, horrified. “However, as I said, I know that I am being foolish — you would never disrespect the rules set in place to protect both you and Professor Lupin, I’m sure?” 

Darcy opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out, and her entire body feels hot.

“You are a bright young woman, Darcy. Do not throw away all that you have worked for these last seven years.” He waves a hand at her. “Now, run along, and why don’t you pass my words along to Professor Lupin when the two of you have dinner tonight?”

* * *

“All right, listen — in 1825, a hippogriff was pinioned after scarring a wizard, and it was allowed to reside on Ministry-owned grounds, where it was guarded during the day, up until the day that it died of natural causes. Pinioning is better than death, right? This hippogriff lived a long life — that counts for something. Or were you thinking something a little less cruel?”

“Did you know that in 1873, the Ministry of Magic tried to use Veritaserum on a hippogriff in the hopes that it would somehow tell the truth? It didn’t work, of course, but —”

“Did you just hear a word I said?”

“Yes, but we’ve been at this for hours…” Darcy groans, sighing deeply. She closes the book in her lap and puts it back on the table next to the larger stack. “Carla would never forgive me if we let Buckbeak get pinioned.”

“I think that’s the best case scenario, truthfully,” Lupin replies. “It’s an awful fate, but… I mean, how often do Hippogriffs fly?”

Darcy narrows her eyes at him. “It doesn’t matter if they fly often or not, what if someone clipped your fingers? I mean, how often do you use them anyway?”

“Quite often, actually.”

She raises her eyebrows, frowning. “Fine, I’ll bring it to Hagrid, but I doubt that he’ll be happy with it and I will not argue in favor of it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Lupin says, jotting down the date and outcome of the trial onto Darcy’s parchment, already half-filled. 

The remnants of their half-eaten dinners sit on the table still along with a few empty bottles of butterbeer. Even with the warm fire crackling in the hearth, a thin blanket is draped over their legs as they do their research, and Darcy’s feet are tucked snugly underneath Lupin’s thigh. Through the single window visible from the sofa, the sky outside is dark, the moon near full, brightening the snowy grounds of Hogwarts. Darcy’s eyes are heavy with sleep, her brain exhausted from combing through large books all day. 

Since they had held hands the previous day, Lupin has not attempted to show any kind of affection, nor has he touched her at all. In fact, she’s amazed that Lupin allows her to tuck her feet underneath him, though he had seemed surprised when she first did it. She knows the decent thing to do would be to have a conversation, but she suspects the conversation would be ugly, full of regrets and acknowledging their wrongdoing, so she keeps her mouth shut and he does the same. Darcy knows a conversation would put an end to all of it, and she isn’t ready for it to end yet. Lounging in his apartments all day without anyone trying to track her down is a relief, and it’s the most relaxing day she’s had in so long. 

Though a conversation about their inappropriate situation doesn’t scare her as badly as a conversation about  _ Dumbledore _ knowing about their inappropriate situation. She isn’t sure what Dumbledore knows anyway — there’s no way that he could know about them holding hands, only briefly, because nowhere in his office does a window look out to where they’d been. But he could have been looking out a window in a different room, or someone may have told him, or maybe — just maybe — all he knows is that she’s been having dinner in his own private apartments. 

Every so often, Lupin looks at her seriously, as if about to say something, but he always decides against it and gives her a small smile instead. She knows that the conversation is coming, and soon, but she’s thankful he doesn’t say anything now. Darcy only smiles back at him, looking his face over. He looks worse today, tired and weary, his hair a mess and the scruff on his face uneven and patchy. She glances at his lips for a split second before he looks away, back towards the fire.

“Thank you for helping,” she tells him. “Though, you don’t have to.”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Lupin says with a shrug. “Hagrid is a friend of yours. A friend to all. I should at least try to help.”

Darcy smiles weakly at him, noticing the lack of color in his face, the general air of weariness and exhaustion, the perspiration beginning to form at his hairline, dampening his forehead. She suddenly feels awkward, as if intruding on something private, something intimate, something she shouldn’t bear witness to. However, part of her wishes she could help — wipe his brow with a cool cloth, give him comfort as he falls into a restless sleep, hold his hand as the full moon grows ever closer with each passing hour. She pulls her feet from under his thigh and he shifts in his seat, watching her. 

“Something on your mind?” he asks after she doesn’t answer. 

She nods slowly. “I spoke with Dumbledore this morning,” she says, tracing her teeth with her tongue as she thinks. “He offered me a job helping Professor Snape.”

Lupin laughs, but not to mock her. “You’re not even graduated yet, and you’ve already been offered a job at the Ministry and a job at Hogwarts?” he teases. “I had not realized you were so desirable.” 

His jape makes Darcy smile. “No?” she retorts, smacking him playfully on the arm. “Is that so surprising to you?”

He doesn’t reply, only grins at her. “Did Dumbledore’s offer appeal more to you than the other?”

“I mean…” Darcy trails off, shrugging her shoulders. “It sounds wonderful — I’d be able to live here, be with Harry all year long, and Carla will be here, but it’s not what I wanted.” She relays to Lupin the vague and cryptic conversation she’d had with Dumbledore, leaving out the last part of it about him. Lupin listens, rubbing at his chin. 

“It could be good for you — a year before going off into the real world. Not many have this opportunity,” he offers after Darcy finishes. “You don’t have to stay here forever, you know.”

“Is it only a year, though?” Darcy wonders. “The way he said it — I’m not allowed to leave my aunt and uncle’s, but for how long? Doesn’t it feel like — perhaps  _ hostage _ is too strong a word, but —” She frowns, slumping back against the sofa. “If I return, I’ll be with Harry, but I’ll be a prisoner. If I accept Mr. Weasley’s offer, I’ll be without Harry, but I’ll be free.”

“Darcy,” Lupin states, catching her attention. “Those are not the only two choices that you have. Once you graduate, you are free to do whatever you wish. Don’t let either of them make you feel guilty for not accepting their offers. You’ve worked far too hard to be pushed into a job that you don’t want.”

But if Darcy is being honest with herself, being close to Harry is something that truly appeals to her. She knows she’ll have to speak with him about it, of course, but Hogwarts isn’t so bad… after all, she was as good as a prisoner at her aunt and uncle’s home for how many years… and no one will treat her so cruelly — except Snape. She rubs her eyes, groaning, then lowers her hands and sits up straight. “If I decide to stay at Hogwarts, you’ll be here.”

A smile finds its way onto Lupin’s face again. “Yes,” he answers. “I hope so. But please, don’t give up your hopes and dreams just to spend some more time with me.” His tone is playful, and Darcy feels suddenly sheepish. 

“You’d be a welcome sight after a summer at Privet Drive,” Darcy admits, sighing heavily. She bites her lip, looking at him, her heart sinking. She has to tell him everything — if she doesn’t, Dumbledore would. 

“You’re a flatterer, Darcy,” Lupin says, the corners of his lips upturned slightly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

Darcy goes bright red, and his words seem to have the exact effect Lupin had been hoping for, because he laughs loudly. She can’t deny how handsome he looks when he smiles, when he laughs, his eyes bright and his face flushed. His laugh makes her smile, albeit a shy and nervous smile.

_ I’ll tell him _ , she promises herself,  _ but not today. _


	29. Chapter 29

When Darcy wakes the next morning, she finds that she’s slept through breakfast, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione are nowhere to be found. She suspects they’re in the library, but that is the last place Darcy wishes to be after all the exhausting research she’d done the past few days. As her stomach growls, she finds herself wishing Emily had stayed behind, if not to wake her for meals. Emily’s always had a built in alarm clock, while Darcy could sleep and sleep and sleep some days. Today is one of those days, and after Darcy stops by the kitchen and the house elves load her bag up with all kinds of sandwiches and pastries, she retires back to her common room and spreads brunch out on the table in front of the fireplace. She eats so much that she falls back asleep on the sofa and is woken again by Harry shaking her awake for dinner.

Groggy from too much sleep and stiff all over, Darcy walks awkwardly through the corridors and down the stairs, her legs asleep and her head pounding. It gets better with each step, however, and Darcy soon finds energy restored to her at the prospect of another huge meal and a good night’s sleep after that. 

On the way down, Hermione eagerly fills her in on what they’ve found on hippogriff cases — which isn’t much. A few of the things Hermione’s researched are the same things Darcy’s found, and she makes a mental note to cross some of the dates off her list when she returns to Gryffindor Tower after dinner.

“Professor Lupin is helping,” Darcy adds quickly when she finishes reciting the many dates and trials. “He found something last night about —”

“That’s wonderful!” Hermione beams, skipping ahead of Darcy and clasping her hands together. “If anyone can help us, he can. I know that Buckbeak will get off with all that we’ve found. I just know it.”

Darcy laughs at her optimism, always having been charmed by Hermione. But in the back of her mind, Lupin’s words echo throughout her head again. Darcy knows that werewolves are looked down upon, held in great disdain, but she isn’t sure how to compare that with hippogriffs. Regardless, Lupin is probably more worldly than she, so she can’t help but to believe him, every word that leaves his mouth. She wonders if Hermione truly believes Buckbeak will be all right, or if she’s keeping up the positivity to encourage Harry, Ron, and even herself. Darcy squeezes Hermione’s shoulder gently as they walk into the Great Hall.

Due to the lack of students still at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had decided to make some dramatic changes to the Great Hall. The sight of it almost stuns, and does slightly confuse, Darcy. Instead of several long House tables, there is only one, and several teachers are already seated at one end; Dumbledore sits at the head of the table, with McGonagall to his right, and Snape to his left. Lupin’s at the table, as well as Professor Sprout, and a Slytherin boy seated beside her. Darcy raises her eyebrows at Harry and she seats herself beside Professor Lupin, with Harry sitting on her other side.

There’s little talk around the table except for the mutterings of how wonderful the food is. Halfway through dinner, Darcy eyes her brother’s plate and reaches for some string beans. She piles some on Harry’s plate and he looks at her with a blank expression. “Vegetables, Harry,” she mutters, but everyone begins to chuckle to themselves and Harry’s face reddens. 

“Thanks, mum,” he snaps as the laughter dies down. 

After dinner, Darcy walks with Harry ahead of Hermione and Ron. “I need to talk to you,” she says quietly. “Want to go to the owlery?” 

“It’s cold, can’t we go somewhere else?” he asks, frowning. “Somewhere warm?”

“Where did you have in mind?”

“The common room is empty,” Harry reasons. “We could just talk in there. By the fire. Where it’s warm.”

“All right.”

So that’s what they do. Darcy is much too polite to banish Hermione and Ron to their dormitories, so they sit with her. Darcy stretches out on the floor, letting the warmth wash over her after the chill in the corridors. Dinner has made them all sleepy, and their eyes grow heavy with each passing second, shifting in their seats to make themselves more comfortable. Darcy doesn’t think it possible for her to sleep anymore today, but the thought of her bed in an empty dormitory sounds delightful, but she knows she has to tell Harry everything first. 

“I spoke with Mr. Weasley,” she begins, sitting up and tucking her legs underneath her. Darcy runs a hand through her hair, but it only falls back into her face. She tucks it behind her ears and smiles weakly. “He offered me a job as his assistant. It starts as soon as possible, once I graduate.”

Hermione’s face brightens, and even Ron grins at her, but Harry looks at Darcy with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. He reminds Darcy very much of Aunt Petunia in the moment, but she decides to keep that to herself. Hermione saves her from having to answer to his glare. “Congratulations!” Hermione shrills. 

“Really wonderful,” Ron adds, with a little less enthusiasm. 

Darcy blushes. “Well, I didn’t take it,” she explains. “I told him I’d think about it, and then — I also spoke with Dumbledore yesterday. He offered me a job, as well, although —”

“Dumbledore offered you a job? Here, at Hogwarts?” Hermione doesn’t hesitate. “Darcy, you’d probably be the youngest teacher in Hogwarts history!”

“It’s not a true teaching position,” Darcy says quickly. “I’d be an assistant to Professor Snape.”

“And Snape is all right with that?” Ron asks warily. “I want to know what Dumbledore did to convince him.”

“He likely just asked,” Hermione replies, waving a hand at Ron in dismissal. “Snape can’t say no to the Headmaster, right?”

“I haven’t accepted that offer, either,” Darcy says, looking at Harry.

“Will you guys excuse us?” Harry finally says, looking to his left and right at Hermione and Ron. “I want to speak with Darcy alone.”

Hermione and Ron take the hint and retreat back to their dormitories, exchanging a confused look. Darcy and Harry wait until they hear the doors close up the stairs and out of sight, and then they continue their conversation. However, it isn’t much of a conversation, as there’s a heavy silence that presses on them for a few minutes as Harry mulls over this information, thinking about what to say next. Darcy watches him carefully, waiting for anything.

“Are you going to accept either of them?” Harry asks her.

Darcy shrugs and moves from her seat on the floor to a seat on the sofa beside Harry. “I don’t particularly want to be Mr. Weasley’s assistant, but I’ve always wanted to go into the Ministry, and you know that,” she thinks aloud. “And then Dumbledore offered me this job at Hogwarts, making it clear that he… well, Dumbledore would rather us be together. That’s why he would bring me back.”

“If he really wanted you to come back, he wouldn’t make you work under Snape,” Harry replies, and they both laugh. “There’s plenty of other teachers.”

“That’s true,” Darcy allows. “But can you imagine me teaching Transfiguration? Or Herbology? Maybe I could return under Hagrid and teach Care of Magical Creatures.” Their laughter subsides and Darcy continues. “I’m good at Potions. I’ve always been, and if Professor Snape is willing to have me, I’m not going to argue. He might change his mind.”

“So you’re going to come back?” Harry inquires, leaning closer to Darcy and widening his eyes behind his glasses. “You’ll be staying at Hogwarts?”

“It’s tempting, but I — I don’t know,” she admits. “I’d have the summer off and I’d be able to spend it with you, which I’m grateful for and Hogwarts has been more of a home to me than Privet Drive ever has been. But do you think Dumbledore is anticipating something happening? And if I come back, who’s to say he isn’t going to want me to stay for a few more years? There are so many questions I have.”

“Then ask him,” Harry urges. He leans back in his seat, seemingly pleased with himself. “I want you to stay here.”

Harry’s pleading tugs at her heartstrings. “I want to, but — I feel like if I were to come back after I graduated… I mean, don’t you think it a waste of all I’ve worked for? All I’ve ever wanted is to go into the Ministry, and I don’t want to settle — I want to be free. Free from the Dursleys, free from all the stupid rules at this school.”

“Free from me?” Harry says quietly.

Darcy shakes her head, squeezing her brother’s arm and frowning. “I never said that,” she whispers. “Being able to stay with you is the only appealing thing about Dumbledore’s offer. Besides that, I think it’s too good to be true. I think he’s afraid of something happening.”

“Not like that’s hard to predict, though,” Harry shrugs. “Look at all that’s happened these past two years, and now our mass murderer, traitor, godfather is trying to break into Hogwarts to kill me, and probably you.”

She looks away from Harry. “I’d rather not talk about Sirius Black,” she hisses. “I just don’t want to be a prisoner.”

“A prisoner?” Harry laughs outloud. “You would never be a prisoner at Hogwarts. How can you say that when you know how it truly feels to be a prisoner in your own home? You wouldn’t have a curfew anymore, you wouldn’t have to be confined to a common room — it will be different when you’re not a student anymore.”

“No?” Darcy answers with a bitter tone. “Dumbledore wants to keep me at Hogwarts because he’s afraid of something happenings. He wants me to give up on everything just to come back here.”

Harry arches an eyebrow. “Hang on — I thought you said he offered you a job. Did he offer you this, or is he forcing you to take it?” Harry asks slowly. 

Darcy falters, stammering at Harry. “Well — I mean, he  _ offered _ , but who am I to refuse Dumbledore?”

“Darcy, you don’t have to accept,” Harry says, lowering his voice. They look at each other for a few moments, leaving unsaid things float in the space between them. “If that isn’t what you want, you don’t have to take it.”

“What about you?” she asks, her voice breaking. Harry smiles fondly at her. “What will you do?”

“I’ll be fine,” he replies with a nod. “It’s not worth keeping you around if you’re just going to be miserable all the time. Just promise you’ll stay with me over the summer.”

“Of course.”

She’s starts to rise off the sofa, ready to walk away and go to bed when Harry speaks again. “I think you’d be great in the Ministry.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” Harry watches his sister sit back on the couch. “You’ve wanted this for so long. You could be great, you know.”

“Maybe,” she hums. “But being great wouldn’t mean much without you there to experience it with me.”

Harry’s jaw clenches and he nods again. He clears his throat. “We both knew that it would come to this,” he rasps. “We both knew it couldn’t be us against the world forever. No matter how badly we wanted it to be.”

Darcy can feel tears well up in her eyes, making Harry’s face blurry before her, and a lump forms in her throat. She swallows hard. “We do make a pretty good team,” she laughs softly. “What’ll you do without me?”

“Die, most like. Or starve.” This makes both of them chuckle again.

“Maybe you could live with me,” she suggests. Harry’s eyes brighten and he perks up at the idea.

“Could I?” he asks, almost pleading. “I wouldn’t be too much of a burden?”

“You mean for the three months you’d be there?” she jokes. “I think I could handle it.”

After her conversation with Harry, Darcy is ready to go to Dumbledore straightaway and refuse his offer, but she decides maybe the smarter idea is to wait for her friends to come back to Hogwarts and at least get their opinions first. Despite Harry being okay with her going off on her own and living her own life, part of her still doesn’t want to leave him. Despite Emily and Darcy’s friendship, Harry is her oldest friend, her best friend, no matter her feelings for him in the beginning. She’s prepared to give everything up for him — had he asked her, begged her, to take the job at Hogwarts just to be near him, she knows she would already be in Dumbledore’s study, gratefully accepting his offer. But Harry hadn’t begged her, and part of her wishes that he had.

Hermione wakes Darcy Christmas morning, suggesting they all bring their gifts down to the common room, in order to celebrate together. Darcy is quite partial to the idea, and Hermione helps her gather the presents at the foot of her bed and they meet Harry and Ron in the common room. Ron shouts at them to hurry up so he can start opening their presents, and Hermione spits back at him, “Do you have no self control?” Darcy laughs and they all sit before the fireplace, tearing at their gifts.

Darcy watches Harry open a case of Chocolate Frogs she’d bought him in Hogsmeade, as well as a few things from Zonko’s that she got for both Harry and Ron. For Hermione, she had found a beautiful quill that cost her quite a bit of money, and Darcy is sure the shopkeeper overcharged her, but Hermione is thrilled with it, so Darcy doesn’t mind. The first gift Darcy opens in a sweater from Mr. Weasley with a big D on it, and she pulls it over her head right away. The fabric scratches her skin, but she knows the more she wears it, the better it’ll get. 

Emily’s present is a new set of white and blue pajamas along with a note (“So you’ll stop wearing mine. Happy Christmas! XO”). Carla has gotten Darcy some new books, books that will help her with a Ministry position, to which Darcy is thankful. However, Gemma’s gift may be Darcy’s favorite — not even wrapped, but in a gift bag with tissue paper stuffed all around it, Gemma has given Darcy a large bottle of firewhiskey along with a bottle of red wine. Ron’s eyes grow big as saucers (“How did she manage to sneak that into Hogwarts?”) and Hermione tuts (“Do you want another Howler?”). Harry only laughs, catching Darcy’s eye, and Darcy nods at him, silently promising him a small, tiny, miniscule sip of wine later that night.

Crookshanks weaves between the crumpled wrapping paper, settling in Hermione’s lap until she shifts and startles him. He then leaps towards Darcy, purring and brushing his face against her chest until she pets him. Ron shoos him away, and the cat hisses before walking away, tail held high. Darcy’s eyes follow his path, and that’s when she notices the thin package still wrapped, sitting behind Harry. Darcy lowers the present in her hands and nods towards it. “What is that?” she asks Harry.

Harry turns and grabs the package, looking at Ron with an excited look. Slowly, he unwraps it and a broomstick falls out, landing on the ground with a soft thud. Darcy doesn’t know much about broomsticks, but it is a beautiful broom, and Ron has his hands on it before Harry gets a chance to speak.

“It’s a Firebolt! No way!” Ron’s smile spreads across his face, and Harry looks up at his sister, clutching his broomstick. “Who got this for you? Where’s the card?” 

While Ron digs around in the wrapping paper, Harry asks, “Did you get this for me?”

Darcy shakes her head. “No.”

“Dumbledore?” Ron thinks. 

“Dumbledore can’t just buy a student a Firebolt,” Darcy says. “He wouldn’t.”

“McGonagall?” Harry shrugs. “She wants Gryffindor to win as badly as we do.”

“I don’t think McGonagall would spend so much money on a broomstick,” Darcy replies.

“Lupin!” Ron says.

“Ron, I don’t think I could afford this broom,” Darcy snorts. “What makes you think Lupin could?”

“Then I’m out of ideas,” Ron groans. He spots Hermione eyeing the broomstick and scrunches his nose. “What are you looking so sour about?”

Hermione pauses, looking around nervously. “I don’t think you should ride that broomstick until we know who sent it to you, Harry,” she says. “It’s an expensive broom, and it didn’t even come with a card —”

“Oh, come on, Hermione.” Ron rolls his eyes. “It’s not like Sirius Black sent it to him.”

Hermione doesn’t answer. Harry puts the broomstick aside to appease his friends, and looks at Darcy again. “What is that?”

“Oh!” Darcy picks up the gift that she’d put down after the Firebolt was unwrapped. She turns it over in her hands and starts to unwrap it, and at the sight of the black cover, she almost laughs. 

“A book?” Ron narrows his eyes and looks right at Hermione. “Hermione, not everyone likes books —”

“I didn’t get it for her!” Hermione retorts shrilly, her face turning red.

Darcy opens the book to the cover, smiling. Inked onto the title page, in barely legible writing is a note left for her. She reads it to herself.  _ Darcy, I hope you aren’t too disappointed with your gift. Happy Christmas. _ She almost flips through the pages and begins to read, but her friends all look at her, expecting her to read the note outloud. Darcy looks around and shakes her head. “That’s my last one,” she says, putting it to the side. 

“You’re incredibly dull sometimes, you realize that?” Ron teases. “You have a message from a secret lover in there or what?”

“Since when you do care so much about what’s written in books?” Darcy grins. “Don’t you two have a broomstick to admire?”

She fingers the spine of the poetry book, chewing the inside of her lip. Suddenly, she feels guilty for not even thinking about getting Lupin anything. Silently, gathering her things, she escapes up to her dormitory, and Hermione is the only person to notice.


	30. Chapter 30

Darcy only reads the first poem out of the book before her mind begins to wander. Lupin’s made notes in the margin about his favorite lines, his favorite parts, his favorite rhymes, but his handwriting is small and unruly, like a fifteen-year-old boy’s. Darcy can’t help but to admire it, only because it’s his. But she can’t concentrate on the second poem, so she slips the book beneath her pillow and digs around under her bed, looking for a different book.

While the Firebolt had come as a pleasant surprise, and even though she’s happy for Harry, something isn’t right, and even Hermione knows it. Hermione’s hesitancy towards the broomstick and overall suspicion doesn’t sit well with Darcy. Harry’s friend has always had decent judgement, has always been logical and correct in most cases, and Darcy has been known to brush her off from time to time, as she is only a third year and not very worldly. If Emily had been with them, Emily would have calmed Darcy, convinced her that it’s just a broomstick sent by someone who cares for Harry — but Darcy can’t think of someone who cares for Harry  _ and _ has a lot of money. 

She has to admit, McGonagall would have been her first thought. McGonagall, ever competitive when it comes to Quidditch, has all the reason in the world to buy a Firebolt, but Darcy doesn’t think McGonagall, ever fair towards all of her students, would ever show such favoritism. Though Dumbledore, who’d given Harry and Darcy the Invisibility Cloak, who’d shown such favoritism towards Harry since the beginning, is another idea, Darcy doesn’t think he would give Harry a broomstick out of all things. She knows that Hagrid, as much as he loves the Potter siblings, would never be able to splurge on such an expensive item, and same with Lupin — the poetry book was proof enough of that. 

Even though Ron was only joking, his throwaway comment about Sirius Black buying Harry a Firebolt frightens her. Perhaps Hermione was thinking the same thing, afraid of saying it and being mocked. Darcy would have been afraid to say it, if she had been thinking it at the time. She wouldn’t have wanted Harry and Ron to laugh at her, to think her a coward, to think her crazy.  _ Is it crazy?  _ she thinks.  _ Is it so crazy to think Sirius Black is the sender _ ? And what if Hermione didn’t think that Sirius Black was the mystery gift giver? What if Hermione had been thinking of someone else, and what if she laughed along with her friends at the thought?

_ No _ , Darcy reasons,  _ Hermione wouldn’t laugh. _

The book she finds beneath her bed is one she’s look through hundreds of times, or so it seems to her. When Hagrid had given it to her and Harry, it had been brand new, untouched except for the old photographs. Now, the spine is loose and the pages are dirty at the corners, where she and Harry have turned them. Her eyes scan the pictures, she smiles at the her parents looking up at her and smiling back, waving. She looks at the all of the pictures with her in them, as a baby with her parents and grandparents, with Harry in them as a newborn baby. 

She wonders how many pictures Lupin had contributed, if he gave any at all. None of the pictures have him in them, and only the one with Sirius Black. She looks at that one for a long time, watching her parents kiss and steal glances and smile up at her from their photograph. She touches her own face, her thin face, just like her father. After a while of watching, Darcy watches her younger self lean against Sirius’s leg and Sirius puts a hand on her shoulder, smiling down at her. Darcy feels her heart swell, remembers the love she feels in her dreams for Sirius, but she closes the book, feeling disgusted.

Darcy walks through the corridors to lunch alone, skipping down the steps two at a time, landing at the bottom with a loud thud that seems to echo all around her. On the first floor, however, someone calls her name. “Miss Potter,” it drawls. 

She turns around, frowning. Professor Snape is walking slowly towards her, his black cloak trailing behind him. In his hands is a large goblet of smoking liquid, and Darcy lets him come to her in the middle of the corridor. 

It seems that talking is not what Snape has in mind, and he shoves the goblet into Darcy’s hands, nearly spilling some over the sides. She grasps it as it starts to slide from her arms, and Snape brushes past her. “Bring this to Professor Lupin and be quick about it,” he continues over his shoulder. “I don’t have time for a detour today.”

Before he turns a corner, Darcy calls out to him. “Wait!” she shouts, hurrying towards him. She looks up into his face and scrunches her nose. Snape doesn’t fail to notice and he scowls at her, cocking an eyebrow. He’s ugly, Darcy thinks, and he’s always been ugly. His eyes are dark and cold, no warmth in them at all, and his lips are so thin that they may not be there at all. “Is it true? You agreed to have me back next year?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I wasn’t given much choice in the matter,” Snape sneers. He raises both of his eyebrows now and nods down the corridor. “Quickly, Miss Potter.”

Darcy heeds his words and makes her way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, careful not to spill any of the potion. She lets herself into the empty classroom, walking straight to Lupin’s office, unsure of whether or not he’ll be in there. She knocks once, but no one answers, so she walks to the wall where she knows the door is hiding. Darcy smacks the wall with the palm of her hand. 

“Come back tomorrow!” comes Lupin’s voice, weak and tired. “I’m feeling ill!”

She sighs. “Professor Snape sent me — I’ll just, er — I’ll put your potion on your desk —”

She turns and puts the goblet in the center of his desk, but before Darcy is able to leave the office, the door to Lupin’s apartments open and he’s standing in the threshold, staring at her. “Darcy,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry — I thought you were someone else.”

“Do many students come by your own private apartment, I wonder?” Darcy smiles weakly, looking him over. “I met Professor Snape in the corridor and he asked that I bring this to you.” She motions towards the goblet and Lupin walks over to it, slowly.

Lupin doesn’t look well — the whole week has not done him much good, but with the full moon tonight, he looks worse. His hair is damp with sweat, his face flushed and wet, as well, looking quite feverish. There are dark bags under his heavy eyes, and his entire body is slumped and exhausted underneath the tattered and patched clothing that he’s wearing. “Thank you,” he says, reaching out to grab the goblet. Darcy watches him drink it, and he sets it back on the desk. “I have to admit, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I had expected Professor Snape.”

“You’re a flatterer, Professor Lupin,” she teases, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down at her feet.

Lupin clears his throat. “If truth be told, I could use some of your flattery right about now,” he replies. “Do I truly look that awful? Or is there some other reason you won’t meet my eyes?”

“No, no — it’s just —” Darcy looks at his face and squirms. “You look… unwell. How are you feeling?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been through this,” he tells her with a small smile. “I’ll manage this time, as well. I appreciate your concern.” Lupin’s face falls as she looks away again. “You’re afraid.”

Darcy looks up at the words, and looks at him hard. To know that tonight, Lupin will become a monster, frightens her slightly, though she hates to admit it, even to herself.  _ Not a monster _ , another voice answers in her head,  _ not with his potion _ . It has been so long since last she’s dreamed of him as a werewolf, tearing at her flesh and biting down hard, breaking bone — lately, when she dreams of him, she dreams of soft hands touching warm flesh, soft kisses up and down her neck, soft smiles inches from her own face.  _ Tell him _ , Emily’s voice rings in her mind,  _ tell him now what Dumbledore said _ .

Her silence is all the answer that Lupin needs. His face hardens and he looks more wolfish than usual, making her cringe away from him, clutching her shoulder. Darcy’s heart pounds beneath her chest, and guilt washes over her as she lowers her hand to her side. Lupin nods, watching her take another small step backwards. “You think me some grotesque beast? A monster?” he rasps, his tone laced with venom, with disgust. 

“No,” she protests, albeit weakly. “I didn’t say that.”

“You’re thinking it,” he says. “Don’t think I haven’t seen others look at me the way you’re looking at me right now. You looked at me like this the first time I saw you after —” He breaks off, but doesn’t need to continue for Darcy to understand. She  _ had _ been afraid of him the day after he attacked her, but it’s different now. “You’re disgusted, afraid —”

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” Darcy snaps. 

“Words that you refuse to say —”

“Words I would never say about you.” Darcy inhales deeply, moving closer to the office door. She puts a hand on the doorknob and turns back. “Thank you for the gift. I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything — I hadn’t expected anything from you, honestly.”

_ Tell him. Tell him now. _

“Stay,” he whispers as she crosses the threshold into the classroom. Darcy stops abruptly and turns again, red in the face. “Just for a little while.”

_ Tell him _ . “I — I shouldn’t,” she replies sadly. “I can’t.”

Lupin hesitates. “All right.”

But he looks so sickly and pathetic standing there, staring at her. Darcy’s heart goes out to him, and all she wants is to kiss him, to see if he’d kiss her back.  _ He’s no monster, just a man _ , she thinks. She wants to stay, wants to help him through this, wants to touch him just for a moment, just to feel the churning in her stomach and the heat in her fingertips. But she knows that Snape knows she’s here — if she doesn’t turn up at lunch, he’ll know, and what will Dumbledore say when he finds out she hasn’t told Lupin? What will he say when he finds out Darcy hasn’t done what he’s asked? She’s ignored his warning, choosing to continue seeing Lupin in the privacy of his own room, away from the prying eyes of others. 

“Can I do anything for you?” Darcy asks before taking her leave, silencing the voice in her head begging her to tell him about Dumbledore’s warning. 

“I would not ask you to care for me, Darcy,” he answers, his voice softer now, gentler. “That is a burden I’ll shoulder alone. You have done far too much for me as it is.”

She shifts uncomfortably, wondering if he knows how much she’d like to care for him. “Still,” she pauses, “if you should change your mind —”

“I know where to find you.”

Darcy ends up returning to lunch only to give Snape the empty goblet back, but she retires to her common room afterwards, only eating a few bites of a sandwich. Dumbledore watches her walk in and watches her walk out, but she avoids eye contact. She spends the rest of the day reading poems by the fire, her feet cold without Lupin’s leg to squeeze them under. Darcy pays more attention to the writing in the margins than the actual poems, most of which she now knows by heart once again. She loves them that much more, hearing them in Lupin’s voice when she reads them silently to herself.

When her brother and Ron return from lunch, Darcy goes back up to her dormitory, to read in silence. She continues to read through the afternoon, even through dinner (though Ron did promise to bring her back some desserts), and some poems she rereads twice. The meanings have changed since last she read them in flowery dresses, in Aunt Petunia’s sitting room surrounded by Aunt Petunia’s friends. When she was younger, the poems were just words to her, stories that struck no chord with young girls. But now, the poems are memories lost to her, other lives she could have had, raw emotion poured onto paper — fear and despair, hope and happiness, anger and bitterness, feelings that come easily to Darcy, and always have. One or the other, no inbetween, no middle ground, just one extreme to the other.

She pours over these words for hours, until the first exciting thing of the day happens, and it’s when she hears McGonagall’s voice in the common room below. Curious, she listens for a moment to the muffled voice, and then she closes her book and descends the spiral staircase. McGonagall seems surprised to see her there, but pays her little mind. Hermione creeps through the common room towards Darcy, standing quite close to her as if trying to hide. Her face is beet red, and she can’t seem to look at either Harry or Ron, and it’s then that Darcy notices the anger in both of their eyes.

In Harry’s hands is his Firebolt, and he looks at Darcy for a split second before handing it over to Professor McGonagall, his jaw clenched, his face red. Professor McGonagall then acknowledges Darcy with a curt nod and leaves the common room with the Firebolt still held gingerly in her hands. As soon as the portrait hole closes behind her, Ron rounds on Hermione, who hides behind Darcy. 

“What did you go running to McGonagall for?” he snaps, his voice higher than usual. 

Hermione sputters, poking her head out from behind Darcy’s torso. “I thought — well, I thought —” she retorts. “I thought that Sirius Black may have sent you that broom, Harry!”

“I was  _ joking _ !” Ron groans. “I was joking, and of course  _ you _ wouldn’t know a joke if it slapped you across the face —”

“Ron!” Darcy shouts, her head already pounding. 

“C’mon, Darcy,” Harry pleads. “Don’t tell me that you believe that?”

The last thing Darcy wants to do is argue with Harry, but she can’t help but to lean towards Hermione’s argument. Darcy places a gentle hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Harry, maybe it wasn’t Sirius Black, but maybe it’s also a good idea for McGonagall to check it. That is what she is doing, isn’t she? She’ll give it back when she makes sure it’s all right?”

“Yes, but —”

“Then if Sirius Black didn’t send it, you’ll get it back —”

“In a few weeks!” Harry protests, sounding like the thirteen-year-old boy Darcy knows so well. “I’ll need to practice with it!”

“Harry,” Darcy growls. “I want you to tell me who you think sent you that broom. Can you think of a person who cares about us — about you — that much to spend so much money on a Firebolt? Who could possibly have sent you that?”

Harry doesn’t have an answer. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, searching for a name, but one never comes. His eyes flick to Hermione, and she suddenly jumps up the steps as fast as she can, running to her dormitory.

“You know she means well,” Darcy says. “She doesn’t want to see you hurt. And neither do I. I’ll feel a lot better when I know the Firebolt is free of any jinxes or curses.”

She escapes back to her own dormitory before Harry or Ron can shout back at her. She slips into sleep easily enough, dreaming of Sirius Black. She isn’t afraid, not the slightest bit — when he picks her up and hugs her to his body, she is safe, she is loved, and she loves him in return, burrowing her face into his chest and trying to be as close to him as she possibly can be. But Sirius lets her go, hands her over to someone with big hands, hands that are unfamiliar and she’s crying — screaming — begging for Sirius to come back for her, to save her.

Darcy looks up at the Hagrid in her dreams and his face fades, but his hair still remains. Lupin face looms above her’s, his snout inches from her face. She can’t close her eyes, so she’s forced to watch as Lupin tears into her chest, ripping her flesh from her body.  _ A monster _ , she thinks, sobbing as his teeth clamp down on her shoulder and pain shoots through her.  _ He is a monster _ . 

But as she thinks the words that shame her so, Lupin isn’t a monster anymore. He’s  _ him _ , a man, kind and gentle, and his lips touch the places where the werewolf just has. Her skin is healed, untouched save for his sweet kisses, and all pain has left her. Darcy lays there as his hands touch her in places she’s never been touched, kisses her and smiles into her skin, purrs incoherently into her ear, and when he goes to kiss her on her lips, Darcy wakes, alone and blind in the darkness.

She wonders what Professor Lupin is doing now with the moon still in the sky. She wonders if he’s dreaming of her, wishing that she’d stayed —  _ god,  _ how she had wanted to. She wonders how many women had decided to leave instead of staying, how many women fled from him in the past. Darcy lays awake until dawn breaks, and as soon as the moon disappears from the sky, she dresses and leaves the dormitory before anyone else wakes. 

Walking through the corridors, her heart jumps in her throat.  _ Am I afraid of him? Why should I be, when he has shown me nothing but kindness? _ But she knows that she has reason to be so hesitant.  _ That wasn’t him _ , she remembers.  _ That was my fault and no one else’s.  _ Darcy knows she’s being ridiculous, that Lupin would never hurt her if he could help it, knows that she has  _ nothing _ to fear.

So when she finds herself outside of Lupin’s office that morning, she isn’t sure if she’s overcoming her fears, or if she’s seeking comfort from him. Regardless, she walks in to the empty office, stepping up to the wall with the door. Darcy suddenly wishes she’d brought something for him, some food or some pumpkin juice, or maybe the bottle of wine that Gemma gave her.  _ No _ , she snaps at herself,  _ that wine is yours. _

“Professor Lupin?” she asks, nervous. “Professor Lupin, are you in there?”

No one answers, so after a long few minutes, Darcy turns to leave, stuffing her hands into her pocket. But as she takes a second step towards the classroom, the door opens and Lupin is standing there in a robe, tied tight around his waist. Even the smallest sight of his bare chest distracts her, and Darcy quickly snaps her eyes back to his face. Lupin looks like a corpse, his skin white and sweaty, dark circles around his eyes. “Oh…” is all she can think to say. “I’m so sorry — I shouldn’t have come — I should have just let you rest —”

Lupin doesn’t answer. He leans against the wall, exhausted, not able to muster a weak smile. 

“I’m sorry —”

“Would you like to come in?” His voice is quiet and raspy, as if he hasn’t used his voice in years. 

Darcy swallows, wondering how she could ever have been afraid of him.  _Tell him._ “All right.” 

That’s when he offers a weak smile, and as Darcy crosses over into his private apartments, Lupin puts a hand on the small of her back and guides her inside, closing the door behind them. 


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^)

Taking care of people comes easily to Darcy. After years of playing Harry’s mother and sister, it’s a skill that she’s honed almost to perfection. She remembers the first time that she, Emily, and Gemma got Carla drunk — it hadn’t taken much, only a few shots of whiskey — and Darcy spent the rest of the night at Carla’s side in the bathroom as she heaved into the toilet, pale-faced and trembling. She recalls that night with a smile on her face as Lupin lies on the couch, fully dressed, but not looking at all better.

Darcy wipes his brow with a damp cloth, which Lupin had insisted she didn’t have to do, but she finally ended up convincing him to let her after she hadn’t gotten him a gift for Christmas. His eyes follow her whenever she moves even an inch, when she moistens the cloth again and shifts on the carpeted floor. Darcy tries not to focus on his eyes, on his face, on his lips — she just tries to keep him cool, keep his skin from burning up. 

“I’ll be all right, you know.” Lupin gives her a half smile. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You’re gentler than Madam Pomfrey,” he jokes, his voice barely a whisper. “Years of tending to me, and her touch grows rougher with each passing transformation.”

“She doesn’t recognize her own strength, I think,” Darcy whispers back, chancing a look into his eyes. She smiles when she realizes he’s still looking up at her. “She worries too much, is all.”

“She’s not the only one, it seems.” 

Darcy’s hand falls from his face for a moment and she blushes furiously. She considers telling him about Dumbledore’s conversation with her right there and then, but decides against it at the last moment. Placing the cloth to his forehead again, Darcy wipes the sweat from his forehead and then his cheeks, placing it back in the small bowl on the table beside her. “You would do the same for me, I hope,” she shrugs, scooting back a bit and putting some distance between them. 

“I would,” Lupin confirms, pushing his hair back out of his face. “But let us hope it does not come to that.” There’s a long silence between them until he speaks again. “I’m sorry for what I said. It was unfair of me.”

“I suppose I can find it in my heart to forgive you,” she teases. Boldly, without thinking, Darcy slowly reaches for his hand and takes it in her’s as if its a piece of fragile china. Lupin lets her, even squeezes her hand reassuringly. His thumb brushes over her knuckles. Darcy licks her lips and sighs. “I should tell you something.”

She remembers forcibly the day after she’d been mauled by a werewolf. Darcy recalls Lupin changing her bandages, the light touches and extreme caution and care he’d shown while doing it. The only reason he’d done it was because he’d felt guilty — or so Darcy had thought — and the only reason she’d allowed him was because she was too polite to refuse. But Darcy wonders now if there was more to it — she wonders if Lupin had wanted to care for her the same way Darcy wants to care for him now. She wonders if Lupin had paid attention to her lips just as she’s doing now, wonders if he thought about kissing her to see what it would feel like.

Lupin nods, his eyes heavier with every passing second.  _ I should let him rest, he’s probably been up all night, _ she tries to tell herself.  _ I shouldn’t have come here. Why did I come here?  _ The feel of his thumb against her skin gives her chills down her spine, warms her to her core, grounds her. She looks down at their hands, lacing their fingers together for a moment before their fingers roll together, brushing against their hands. Darcy smiles at him, and he smiles back, a small smile, but genuine. 

“Yes?” Lupin prompts. “What did you want to tell me?”

Darcy frowns, quickly changing her mind again. “Nothing, I —” she shrugs. “It’s nothing.”

He musters a soft laugh. “You know, I lied to you before,” he admits, making Darcy wary. “Help me up, love. There’s something I want to show you.”

Darcy does as he requests, helping him to his feet. Lupin seems stiff, incredibly sore, as he limps to his bed, leaving Darcy by the couch. He insists she take a seat as he rummages around in an old trunk, and he returns to her with an envelope in his hand. Lupin sits beside her on the sofa, close enough that their arms touch, and from the envelope he pulls out some old photographs. He sorts through them, letting her look at them all. 

“These are some of my most prized possessions,” he explains sadly. “Some of my  _ only _ possessions.” Lupin holds up the first photograph, one of a young boy Harry’s age with sandy brown hair, shaggy and unkempt —Lupin — with one arm thrown around another boy with a straight nose and unruly dark hair — her father — and his other arm wrapped around the shoulders of a handsome young man, one that looks strikingly like Sirius Black. Darcy can’t help but to smile down at her father, only a young boy and nothing like the young adult she’s used to seeing in pictures.

There aren’t many pictures, and most of them are of Lupin himself as a young boy, no older than Darcy at most. He’s handsome as a boy her age, not conventionally like Sirius, but in the rugged and charming way she finds him to be now. Darcy glances at him before looking back at the pictures. Some photographs have her father in them, but more have Sirius in them, giving Darcy mixed feelings. The Sirius Black in the photos always smiles at her, waving up at her, nothing seemingly evil about his features. In fact, Sirius seems to love his friends very much, seems to love her father by the looks he gives him in between looking up at Darcy and Lupin, and Sirius seems to love his old friend, Lupin, as well. Sometimes there’s another boy with them, round and fleshy, with golden hair that’s parted to the side.

The last picture he shows her is one of Lupin around her age, maybe sixteen or seventeen at the oldest. He’s not anywhere at Hogwarts that she knows of, but is sitting on an old sofa, patterned with flowers that look to be a mustard yellow color, but the colors of the photograph are faded from years gone by. The Lupin in the photograph opens a newspaper, scanning the pages, his nose and eyes and hair visible overtop of the pages. And beside him, laughing silently in the photograph, holding onto a page of the newspaper, as well, is Darcy. Darcy’s seen too many pictures of herself as a baby to not recognize herself. She watches with a smile on her face as the Lupin in the photograph looks sideways at her, turning the page right side up for the baby beside him.

“I told you we’d never met before,” Lupin says in her ear. “But we did. You must be just over a year old here.” He looks up at her. “Would you like to keep it? You could put it in your photo album. Truthfully, I was loath to give it over when Hagrid wrote asking me for any pictures I had, but I didn’t realize that in a few years time, I’d be able to meet you once again, so I suppose I don’t need it anymore. Besides, you didn’t know me, so I didn’t think you’d need a picture like that.”

“No!” Darcy replies, shaking her head. “I have enough photos. You keep it.”

Lupin smiles at her. “I insist.” He takes her hand and places the photograph in her palm. Hesitantly, Darcy puts the picture in her pocket. “How did you know?” he asks as she pats her pocket, feeling the picture beneath the fabric of her pants. 

“Know what?”

“How did you know that we’d met before? You can’t have remembered. You were so little then.”

“I — I —” Darcy tries to think. She remembers back to their first meeting (besides when she was a baby) on the Hogwarts Express, and the warmth that emanated from him, the indescribable comfort that she received just from his presence. “You just seemed familiar, I guess.”

This makes Lupin chuckle. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says. “I just —” He sighs happily, leaning back in his seat, looking weary again. “I was nervous about meeting you and Harry.”

“You were nervous about meeting me?” she laughs. “Was it as horrible as you had expected it to be?”

“Well, the situation wasn’t exactly ideal,” Lupin jokes. “But you’ve proven that I was only being foolish. You and Harry are wonderful.”

“Just wonderful?” she asks with a grin.

Lupin pauses, considering her. “Just wonderful.”

“Not even a little flattery?”

“If you want to be complimented, just say so,” Lupin says. He raises an eyebrow slightly, a smirk crossing his lips. “No need to be shy about it.”

But she is too shy to say so, so she doesn’t receive a compliment.

Lupin’s smile fades. “Why did you come here?” he asks, not unkindly. He shifts in his seat, facing her, and Darcy mimics him.

_ Because I wanted to see you. I wanted to take care of you. I dreamt of you. I wanted to kiss you.  _ But instead, she says, “I don’t know.”

Lupin sighs deeply. “I’m so sorry for what I did to you. Have I mentioned that?”

“Once or twice,” Darcy answers. “But it’s all right.”

“You’re too sweet for your own good, Darcy, do you know that?” Lupin’s eyes flick to her shoulder, and Darcy frowns. “I’ve ruined you.”

“It’s just my shoulder.”

“It could just as easily have been your face.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“Your mother and father would never look at me again if they knew what I’ve done to you.”

“They’re dead,” Darcy says flatly, and for some reason it’s painful, a knife twisting in her heart. She wonders if it hurts him as much as it hurts her, and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t said anything. “I don’t think what they would or would not have said or done matters much anymore.”

“You miss them.”

Darcy nods slowly, wishing the conversation would end. “Yes,” she whispers. “All the time.”

“I wish you had more time with them,” Lupin replies quietly. “I know they’d be proud of you.”

They look at each other, as if for the first time. The photograph in her pocket and their conversation brings Darcy back to reality, forces her to remember that Lupin was her parents’ friend, someone who could have been very close to her and her family had they survived. She finds herself wondering how she’d look at him if that were so — would he still be so charming, so handsome? Would her heart still leap with every brush of their fingers? Would she still dream of his kisses, his touch, of him at all? So deep in thought, Darcy doesn’t realize that she’s raising her hand to touch his face until it’s too late. Her fingertips whisper across his cheek, feeling the rough stubble on his face, the heat of his feverish flesh. Lupin doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch at her touch, doesn’t ask her to stop. She can feel her cheeks turning red, painfully, as she traces the line of his jaw.

Dumbledore’s warning is quickly forgotten as she leans in and presses her lips to his, a soft kiss, her palm upon his cheek. The feel of his lips on her’s is like nothing she’s ever felt before.  _ His lips are so soft.  _ Adrenaline surges through her veins as she pulls away from him, and she’s so engrossed by the boldness she’s shown that she hadn’t even taken note if he’d kissed her back or not. Darcy touches her lips, breathing heavily, and suddenly her senses return to her and flood her with an overwhelming sense of dread and foolishness, of humiliation and she feels childish. She springs to her feet with surprising speed, backing away from him.

Lupin’s calm demeanor makes her nervous. She can’t even begin to tell what he’s thinking — his face is blank, his cheeks slightly pink, and she searches for a sign of anger or annoyance, but there isn’t one. He doesn’t seem outraged, which she thinks is probably a good thing, but the way he’s looking at her, the way his eyebrows begin to knit together — that’s when she knows she’s made a terrible mistake. How could she have so easily forgotten who he is —  _ what  _ he is? Darcy’s heart races and Emily is screaming at her inside her head —  _ he’s your teacher! _

_ He’s my friend, _ she fights back, very weakly. “I’m so sorry, Professor,” Darcy pants, heading for the door. She stumbles, light-headed, and Lupin rises slowly out of his seat when she trips over her own feet. “I — I don’t know — what I was thinking —”  _ What would my parents think? Would they still be proud of me? Would they be able to look him in the eye if they knew what just happened between us? _

Lupin searches for something to say, holding his arms out as he takes a step towards her, almost ready to catch her if she stumbles again. “I could walk you back to your common room, if you’d like —”

“ _ No! _ ” Darcy shouts, sounding a little ruder than she’d expected to. She lowers her voice, softening her tone. “No, I mean — no. I can manage, thank you. You should get some sleep.”

She leaves without saying goodbye, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, she leans against the wall, feeling the need to vomit. Darcy closes her eyes and slumps against the hidden door, catching her breath. The rush that she’s gotten from a stupid  _ kiss _ makes her feel a little girl again, thirteen-years-old, sitting in the common room with her friends, daring each other to kiss on the lips and giggling when they do. But the rush she has now is nothing compared to then. Part of her wants to run back in and kiss him again, just to make sure it wasn’t a dream, just to make sure that she doesn’t forget the feel of his lips on her’s. Part of her wants to run away, run far away, and never have to look at him again.  _ How will I ever be able to face him in class? _

If Dumbledore was concerned about boundaries before, what would he say now? Would he know? Surely not — the only people who would ever know are Darcy and Lupin, the only two people behind the door at the time. It’s not like Dumbledore could read her mind — or could he?  _ Without even a wand in hand, though? _ she thinks, trying to convince herself.  _ No, someone told him about us holding hands. Someone had to tell him. Someone saw us. But no one saw us this time. _

She jumps at the sound of a doorknob turning, and for an instant she looks at the closed office door, horrified. And then she realizes that it’s Lupin’s apartments door opening behind her. Darcy spins on her heel and looks up at Lupin. Neither of them speak, they just stare at each other, unsure of what to say to make anything better. She knows nothing can undo it, that it happened, and she blushes furiously, unable to contain herself. “Professor Lupin, I —”

But he cuts her off with another kiss, making her heart stop. This time, it isn’t a chaste kiss just testing the waters. His lips part when they meet her’s, and Darcy melts into him, kissing him hard and deep. Lupin’s hands find her face, and with one hand he brushes away the hair in their way, and the other hand cradles her face, his thumb brushing gently over her cheek. When he pulls away from her, he pulls away far too soon, and the warmth of his hand on her face is gone, both arms dangling at his sides. Lupin stands tall in the threshold, looking around the office as if looking for someone hidden, someone watching. He clears his throat, turns, and walks back into his apartments, the door closing slowly behind him. 

Darcy is frozen to the spot for a few moments until she feels she’s able to walk normally again. The hair on the back of her neck stands up, and goosebumps rise on her arms. For a fraction of a second, Darcy considers going back in, wanting to kiss him again and again and again until she can’t kiss him anymore. She wants to throw her arms around him, see what it’s like to drag her fingers through his hair as she’s seen him do so often. She wants to kiss him until her lips are swollen, wants to know the taste of his tongue. She wants to kiss him so fervently that Lupin will dream about it when he sleeps that night, craving her kiss again.

Instead, Darcy leaves his office, scurries through the classroom, and when she finds herself in the sunlit corridor, Darcy feels like she can do anything. But really, the only thing she feels like doing is taking a nap, so she heads back up to Gryffindor Tower, skipping up the steps two at a time, and she even smiles at Sir Cadogan after she gives him the password and he bids her enter.

As she climbs into bed, Darcy closes her eyes, letting the sunlight wash over her like a warm blanket. She puts her hands behind her head and sighs contently. 

_ I’ll tell him,  _ she says to herself again,  _ but not today. _


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm honestly so proud of myself, i can't believe i've written 32 chapters

With Harry not only upset with Hermione, but with Darcy as well (“For taking her side!” he’d shouted the day she’d kissed Lupin), he and Ron stay well away from her. It’s suddenly lonely at Hogwarts, and the next few days she spends finalizing her research for Buckbeak’s case, with plans to present everything to Hagrid before the end of Christmas break. It keeps her mind occupied, which she appreciates, as without anything to do, her thoughts wander to Lupin — the feel of his lips, the way he’d kissed her the second time, the way he’d turned around and left her standing there without so much as another word. As much as she wants to see him, to spend time with him instead of being by herself, she decides to give him space. She knows that if he needs or wants her around, Lupin will track her down. 

Darcy brings her research with her to breakfast the following morning, where everyone eats in silence. Many teachers and what students remain decide to skip it, but Hermione shows up, and for that Darcy is most grateful. She almost asks Hermione to join her at Hagrid’s, but thinks it best if she went alone. So as everyone clears the Great Hall, Darcy makes her way for the front doors, a large black coat wrapped around her shoulders, falling to the middle of her thighs. Her red and gold scarf is pulled up over her face to protect her skin from the bitter winter cold, and she stuffs the parchment inside her coat to keep the snow off it. She’s worked too hard on the case only to lose it all to snow.

The walk down to Hagrid’s hut is cold and lonely, and Darcy makes sure to pass close to the snow-covered greenhouses just to wave to Professor Sprout. The Herbology professor isn’t in the greenhouses, however, and Darcy sighs. The prospect of her friends coming back so soon keeps her spirits high, and she knows they’ll have enough conversation to last a lifetime, to keep her mind off other things. Usually, Christmas comes and goes quickly, as does the rest of the school year, but this year’s winter break seems to drag, each day slower than the last, and Darcy finds herself craving classes again, loud feasts, and even the smell of the Potions classroom, where flowery ingredients mingle with stale and smoky smells, somehow incredibly enticing. 

The wind begins to pick up as she reaches Hagrid’s modest home, rustling what dead leaves remain on the trees on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It bites at Darcy’s cheeks, promptly turning them red and making her nose run. She thankful for the warmth that Hagrid’s hut offers, and when he steps aside to let her pass through the door, Darcy sees a fire crackling in the massive hearth. Buckbeak is inside, too, but he looks weary — for a hippogriff. Her appearance seems to have woken him from a nap, and as soon as Darcy inclines her head just slightly, Buckbeak bows as best he can from the ground and returns to his slumber. Beside Buckbeak, Fang catches sight of Darcy and wanders over to her, to lick her hand and slobber on her thighs. Hagrid takes her coat and hangs it for her.

For once, Hagrid has remembered Darcy doesn’t care for tea. He whips together some hot cocoa for her and sets a big, steaming mug on the table before her. She sips at it, but it isn’t very good and it’s quite watery. Darcy drinks it anyway, letting it run down her throat without really tasting it. All the while, Hagrid talks distractedly of the weather and of Buckbeak, of classes and Christmas. As the conversation dwindles, Darcy withdraws the parchment from inside her coat and spreads it flat on the table, grinning up at Hagrid. He squints at it.

“What’s tha’?” Hagrid asks warily.

Darcy beams. “Professor Lupin and I have been researching hippogriff cases and trying to find anything to help Buckbeak,” she explains. “I just wanted to show you what we’ve found.”

Before she can say another word, Hagrid has his arms around her, giving her a bone-crushing hug. Fang yelps as he accidentally trods on his faithful dog’s paw, and Hagrid’s eyes are wet with tears. “Here, Darcy, here…” He takes her empty cup and brings it to the small kitchenette. “Yer of age, and it’d be rude of me not to do somethin’ special for ya. I have some mead — but only a little.”

Darcy smiles. Alcohol is just the thing to loosen Hagrid’s tongue, and it’ll give her a boost of confidence, as well. “ _ Professor! _ ” she says in mock outrage. “Well, if you insist…”

“Yeah, yeah… don’t go tellin’ no one, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” she agrees. Hagrid fills her cup halfway with the brown liquid, and he pours a hearty glass for himself, three times the size of Darcy’s. “Thank you.”

When Hagrid seats himself at the table again, Darcy turns the parchment around so he’s able to read what’s written on it. “Now, Professor Lupin was the one who found the pinioning case, and I told him I’d bring it up, but I didn’t think that would appeal to you.”

“No!” Hagrid nods in agreement with Darcy. “Poor Buckbeak is not gettin’ his wings clipped.”

“I knew you wouldn’t agree.” She raises the cup to her lips again, and the mead burns her throat as she drinks. Darcy lowers it again and coughs. Hagrid chuckles at her. “But what do you think? Look it over and let me know if there’s something that stands out. Though, honestly, I think I’ve gone through every possible book, so unless Hermione’s found something we haven’t…”

Hagrid reaches for the paper cautiously. He glances at his hippogriff in the corner of his hut. “Buckbeak would appreciate what yer doin’ for him,” Hagrid says. “Yeh never had to do this for me.”

“You’re my friend, Hagrid, of course I did.”

Hagrid nods towards Buckbeak, and Darcy turns around in her chair to see the hippogriff staring at her, stretching his wings. “I think he likes yeh,” Hagrid jokes — at least, she thinks it’s a joke. Darcy only laughs nervously, offering Hagrid a small smile as she turns back around, keeping an eye on Buckbeak.

They drink in silence for a few minutes. When Hagrid refills his cup, Darcy asks if she can have another, as well, and Hagrid obliges reluctantly. He asks how her break is going, and Darcy answers as honestly as she can; Hagrid already knows about the Firebolt, knows Hermione’s side of things, so he’s more sympathetic towards Darcy, whom he knows only wants Harry safe. They talk and talk and Hagrid continues to refill his tankard, well after Darcy finishes her second one. The mead has her head buzzing, but she can still think straight and walk straight, and she must keep her head. It is important that she keeps her wits about her. Anymore of Hagrid’s mead and she may be crawling back up to the castle, retching the entire way.

And finally, when Hagrid quiets and he seems relatively drunk — what part of his cheeks are visible beneath his beard and mustache are flushed, and he sways in his chair every so often — Darcy clears her throat and sits up straighter in her chair, resting her hands on the table. Hagrid watches her with his dark eyes, suddenly looking very nervous as she stares him down. “Are yeh all righ’?” Hagrid asks, slurring his words slightly. “Somethin’ yeh wanna talk abou’?”

“Yes,” she answers quietly. Darcy’s heart races, but she’s not backing down. For days, she’s practiced what she’s going to say. Kissing Lupin had not only made her heart flutter, but it gave her such confidence, the ability to do anything, and with that newfound confidence, she had made her decision, and she was going to get the truth. 

Hagrid waits patiently, tapping his fingers on the table. 

“Hagrid,” she whispers, and Hagrid leans closer to hear her. “Why didn’t you tell me that Sirius Black was my godfather?”

Hagrid’s red face turns suddenly white and he grips his tankard so hard that she expects it to break. His fingers have stopped drumming on the table, and everything is still. He doesn’t speak for a few long moments, and the silence hangs heavy over them. Then Hagrid frowns, and anger flashes across his face only for a split second before it disappears and the color starts to return to his cheeks. It frightens her, as she’s never really seen Hagrid angry, but she doesn’t show any fear or hesitancy to continue. “Who told yeh that?” he asks. “Was it Professor Lupin?”

“No, Hagrid,” Darcy answers, as calmly as she can. “It wasn’t Professor Lupin.” She hesitates, hoping the silence will force Hagrid to admit to something, but he only waits for her to continue. “I was there. I was there that day, in the Three Broomsticks. I heard you. I heard all of you, the whole thing. I was there.” She had come to the conclusion that she should keep Harry out of the story, worried that he’d get into trouble for being in Hogsmeade.

Hagrid exhales deeply, and he looks away from her face, down at his hands. “I’m sorry yeh had to find out that way…” he mumbles. “I’m so sorry, Darcy.”

“Tell me again how it happened,” she pleads, trying to sound commanding. Instead, she only sounds like a little girl, her voice breaking. “Tell me what happened that night. All of it.”

“Yeh’ve already heard it —”

“Tell me, Hagrid.”

Hagrid looks uncertain, but nods and swallows loudly. He licks his lips, looking Darcy in the eyes again. She doesn’t falter and sits still as he begins. “Dumbledore asked me to get yeh and yer brother that night, so I did,” he begins, and Hagrid’s voice is shaky and uneven. His eyes shine wet with more tears. “Yer house was in ruins… I found Harry easy enough, jus’ sittin’ on top of the rubble, whinin’ but not cryin’ too hard like a baby should. I went to go put him in the side cart so I could find yeh, but — but Sirius Black had yeh, clingin’ to yeh like you were his own child. Said he pulled yeh from some rubble after he heard yeh shoutin’ and cryin’.”

Darcy nods, silently telling him to continue. She remembers — she can see vividly, even now in Hagrid’s hut, Sirius’s face looming over her. His handsome, friendly, familiar face, pale as a ghost, but loving and relieved. She can feel his arms around her small body, feel him pulling her from the crushing debris, holding her tight to him. His hair had tickled her face, brushing against her forehead. He was sweating through his shirt, she remembers.  _ He was afraid _ .

“He didn’t want to give yeh over,” Hagrid continues. “He was… upset… and askin’ for Harry. Told me he didn’t want to separate the two of yeh. I told him what Dumbledore said, that I was to bring the both of yeh to yer aunt and uncle’s, and he knew I wasn’t ‘bout to hand Harry over, against Dumbledore’s wishes.”

“And then what?”

The drink seems to have gotten to Hagrid. He stumbles over his words and tears run down his face, wetting his beard. “So he gave yeh to me after a few minutes o’ arguing. I didn’t know ‘bout what really happened then, else I would’a taken yeh from him right away, but I — I let him say goodbye to yeh. Watched him kiss yer head, hug yeh. And then I left with the both o’ yeh.”

Darcy feels a lump form in her throat at the thought. Her dream never lasted that far — she always woke before Hagrid tried to take her. “I screamed,” she whispers. “I cried for him. I wanted him. I didn’t want to leave him. Do you remember that?”

Hagrid becomes visibly flustered. “How could yeh — how d’yeh know — Darcy…”

“I remember, Hagrid. You said you had to pry me off Sirius’s chest for me to go,” she admits, her voice soft. “I loved him. And you took me away from him.”

“He would have killed yeh, Darcy,” Hagrid argues, shaking his great, shaggy head. “He would have murdered yeh, same as yer parents.”

“How do you know that?” she asks, her voice becoming more shrill with each word. “How do you know that he would have killed me?”

“He’s a murderer!” Hagrid shouts. 

“He  _ loved _ me!” Darcy snaps, slamming a hand on the table. Buckbeak’s head snaps quickly to face them, and Fang moves away from where he’s curled up at her feet. “And you took me away from him.”

“You would’ve left Harry to live with a murderer?”

“I could have had a family,” she replies, feeling the effects of the strong mead. “I could have grown up loved, cared for, cherished. And you took that away from me when you pried me off Sirius’s chest.” 

“He killed all those muggles, and Pettigrew,” Hagrid retorts. “Savage, brutal — so cold not even the dementors affect him.”

Darcy thinks of the photographs. She thinks of Sirius during her parents wedding, of the way he looked at her with such tenderness, of the way he looked at her parents with bright eyes and a warm smile. She remembers the pictures Lupin had shown her, the love in Sirius’s eyes when looking at his friends, the smile on his face when he looked up at Darcy from the photograph. He didn’t seem evil at all in the pictures, didn’t seem to be a murderer, or as cold and brutal as Hagrid claims. “I remember it all, Hagrid,” she tells him, running a hand through her hair. “For a long time, I didn’t know it was him. But I dream of him, almost every night. Sirius rescues me, and when he holds me, I am safe. I am loved, and I love him. It used to be a nightmare, something I dreaded, but now — I await my dreams, hoping that I can feel loved again. Do you understand how that feels?”

“You were four years old,” Hagrid reminds her. “You were afraid after all tha’ happened. Trauma does things to —”

“I know what I felt,” she hisses. “Don’t pretend that it’s just a dream. I know it’s not. I’m remembering that night, not just dreaming of it.” She slumps in her chair, suddenly exhausted. “I could have had a family.”

“Yeh could have been dead.” Hagrid clears his throat, becoming more confident now that Darcy isn’t in control anymore. “It’s my job to take care of yeh and it always has been, and I’m tellin’ yeh, if I’d let Sirius Black —”

Darcy snorts. “It’s your job to take care of me?” She doesn’t want to hurt Hagrid’s feelings, but anger floods her, and she can’t control it anymore. “Where were you when my aunt and uncle locked me in my bedroom for days on end? Where were you when I burnt dinner one night and couldn’t eat for three days? Where were you when I needed you? Needed  _ someone?  _ No one has ever taken care of me — I’ve always taken care of myself.”

Hagrid digests her words. “Go back to the castle, Darcy,” he says, his tone too serious for her. “Go back to your dormitory, not to the owlery, not to Professor Lupin’s office, just your dormitory.”

Darcy narrows her eyes, his professional tone making her uneasy. “What does it matter to you where I go?” she wonders aloud. “I can go where I please.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at yeh, Darcy,” Hagrid says boldly, as if he were her own father. That angers her ever more and she balls her hands into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms, drawing blood. “I don’t like how he thinks he can hold yer hand as he pleases, and don’t think I don’t see him touchin’ yer shoulder and all the time yeh spend with him…”

Bile rises in the back of Darcy’s throat, and an anger she’s never felt with Hagrid consumes her. “You told Dumbledore about me and Professor Lupin. You’re the one who said we were holding hands.”

Hagrid gets a wide eyed look on his face, as if he’s said too much. He composes himself. “Of course I did,” he mutters. “Was out feeding the thestrals some fresh meat and I saw the two of yeh.”

“Hagrid, you had  _ no  _ right,” she snaps, distraught. “You’re supposed to be my friend!”

“I’m yer Professor now, too!” he protests. “And it’s my job to keep an eye out for tha’ sort o’ stuff. What were yeh thinkin’?”

“You could have gotten me expelled,” Darcy growls. “You could have gotten Professor Lupin fired.”

“Yeh shouldn’t have done that, then!”

“How many years have I been coming to your home?” she asks, her hands trembling. She wipes her palms on her pants, wiping the blood away. “How many times have I had dinner with you, had tea with you — which, for the last time, I don’t like! How many times have you comforted me, Hagrid? Hugged me because you are my friend?” Darcy covers her face with her hands, wanting to scream. How could she have been so foolish? “That’s all it is, Hagrid, I swear to you — we’re friends, me and Professor Lupin — that’s all.”

Hagrid doesn’t seem very convinced. Darcy gets to her feet quickly, catching Buckbeak and Fang’s attention yet again. She hesitates as she puts her coat back on, buttoning the front up. “Good luck with Buckbeak’s trial, Hagrid,” she says over her shoulder. Darcy opens the door, letting in the cold. “Professor Lupin worked hard to help you, and so did I.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can't wait to leave for vacation in a few minutes so i can get blackout drunk. here ya go!!! (also i love emily i have such big plans for her)

“Spain was fantastic! Dad’s got some family in Barcelona, and I was in a mind to stay with them. So much history in all the buildings — we took so many tours, and you know what? I think I might move there once I graduate, it was just  _ that _ beautiful. I brought some postcards that have pictures of my favorite sights, though they’re Muggle pictures, but still  _ very _ exciting! Mum and dad said we could go back over summer if I want to.”

“My parents held a Christmas gala and actually let me drink some wine this time. I looked so good in my dress, though, I made my mother take a picture. I brought it with me — I needed you all to see how good I looked. Anyway, I ended up drinking too much wine and puked on someone’s shoes — someone important, I guess, but I don’t know who it was — and my parents banished me to my room for the rest of the night. The only company I had was a couple of house elves who held my hair for me as I threw up all night.”

“Those weird relatives I was telling you about ended up showing up, and it was a nightmare. Be glad that you didn’t come. I was the only child in the entire house for the entire vacation, and all the women chastised me for not having a boyfriend, and the men chastised me for not receiving any job offers yet. And then mum, bless her soul, asked about you in hearing range of her sister and then everything blew up. Everyone wanted to meet you, and no one cared much about me. Which, I guess was kind of a blessing. Anyway, how was your break?”

_ I kissed my teacher. I kissed him twice.  _ “It was fine. I’m glad to have you back, though.” Darcy smiles, and for the next hour, the girls remain in the Great Hall at the Gryffindor table by themselves, and Darcy tells them of the Firebolt first, then of confronting Hagrid (conveniently leaving out everything about Lupin). When she recalls the conversation, however, her friends don’t immediately jump to her defense as she’d hoped. Instead, they look at her with grave faces and look incredibly disturbed by her words, making Darcy feel ashamed in their presence.

“A Firebolt is really expensive,” Gemma notes, looking around the table. “I can’t see many people buying them. I also can’t see Sirius Black just walking into a shop and ordering one. The shopkeeper would have noticed if he had waltzed into his shop asking after one of his most expensive brooms.”

“He could have had someone else do it for him,” Emily shrugs. “He probably has plenty of  _ old _ friends still out in the world.”

“Or it could have been from someone else entirely,” Carla suggests. “Maybe you have a rich, distant relative that hasn’t revealed themselves to you yet.”

“Trust me, Carla, that’s what I’m hoping,” Darcy sighs. “But I don’t think we’ll know for sure. There was no note, no clue to who sent it. If the broomstick isn’t jinxed or cursed or what have you, it’ll put my mind at ease.”

Then their responses shift towards Darcy’s story about Hagrid, the moment she’s been dreading. Darcy runs a hand down her face, and Emily sighs loudly. “Darcy, how could you say those things to Hagrid?” she frowns. “He’s always been good to you, and you know that. He’s always made sure you felt welcome here and he’s always been a friend to you.”

“Just because he was saying things you didn’t want to hear doesn’t make him a bad person,” Carla adds. “Good friends tell each other hard truths, and Hagrid was only being a good friend. You should apologize.”

“I’m not apologizing,” Darcy snaps, but she softens at the sight of her friends’ faces. “Not yet. Let me stew in my anger for a little while.”

“That’s not good for you,” Gemma teases. “You’ve never been good at  _ stewing _ . You are, however, pretty good at apologizing. Just go down there.”

“I’m not apologizing,” Darcy says curtly, ending the argument.

Afterwards, Gemma shows them all the photograph of herself. Darcy smiles; she’s always thought Gemma was pretty, much prettier than many girls she’s known. But in the picture, Gemma looks radiant — her dark hair falls straight to her shoulders, just brushing above her collarbones, and she’s clad in a emerald green dress with an off-shoulder neckline that prevents too much cleavage, and the sleeves go down all the way to the middle of her forearms. The Gemma in the photograph beams and twirls, and it’s then that Darcy remembers who Gemma is — a pureblood, a Slytherin, a girl of an ancient house whose family line can be traced back centuries. In the gown in the photograph, Gemma looks every bit a Slytherin heiress. 

Carla spreads her postcards on the table, as well. They’re beautiful pictures of rolling hills, ancient cathedrals, an eagle eye view of the heart of the city. Darcy rifles through them, with Emily looking over her right shoulder and Gemma looking over her left. Carla gives them an in-depth story behind each one, and when she finishes recalling her entire vacation, she’s breathless and smiling from ear to ear. There’s few things that make Carla as excited as traveling and history.

Emily doesn’t have anything to present her friends with. But she does have funny stories about her relatives when they’re drunk, and as she wildly tells a story about her veteran grandfather who’d had too much brandy, Emily accidentally swats Darcy in the face, causing everyone to erupt with laughter. Darcy laughs as Emily fawns over her, apologizing between snorts. 

“Good to see you ladies back.”

Darcy turns to see Professor Lupin behind her. The sight of him makes her flush, but he has the decency not to acknowledge it. He smiles down at them all. She can’t look away from him — she wants to reach out and take his hand, to let him drag her back laughing to his office, to kiss him as soon as the door shuts behind them. Lupin doesn’t seem as if he’s about to do any of those things, however, and Darcy pushes the thoughts to the back of her mind.

“Darcy nearly cried over you, you know,” he teases. “Missed you so much, she did.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time Darcy’s cried over us,” Emily retorts, elbowing Darcy playfully in the arm. “You used to sob when I left for Christmas, do you —?”

“We spent a good bit of time going over your last essay, Miss Duncan,” Lupin interrupts, looking Darcy in the eyes and giving her the most genuine smile she’s ever seen. “Tomorrow, you may have something to cry over, as well.” Emily reddens, burying her face in her hands and groaning. Lupin’s eyes scan the table, and he picks up the postcard with an old football arena on it. “Beautiful. Who went?”

“Me,” Carla says with a dreamy sigh. “It’s my favorite place in the world.”

“You’ve only been there once,” Gemma scoffs. “But... it is beautiful. Professor Lupin, look at this picture. Do I or do I not look incredible?” She scoops the photograph of herself up off the table and holds it up to his face. Lupin takes it from her hand and gives it a once over before handing it right back to her.

“A beautiful dress, Gemma.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Miss Duncan?” Lupin asks, flashing Emily a small smile. “Good holiday?”

“Wonderful,” Emily replies. “Maybe not as good as Carla’s, but still wonderful.”

“I’m glad,” Lupin says. “I’ll see you all in class tomorrow. And don’t forget your essay, Carla.” He turns to leave them be, giving Darcy a slight nod as he walks away.

“Did you hear that?” Gemma laughs, putting her photograph away. “A  _ beautiful  _ dress. He thinks I’m beautiful.”

“He thought the dress was beautiful, Gemma,” Emily retorts. “I didn’t hear him say anything about you.” 

_ He thinks I’m beautiful,  _ Darcy thinks, wishing she could have followed him out of the Great Hall. The thought makes her stomach churn. She still could… she could make up some excuse to return to her common room, to see Max, to the library...  _ If he didn’t think I was beautiful, he wouldn’t have kissed me _ .

She hopes that Emily will drop the situation with Hagrid, but as they retreat to their dormitory to get some sleep before the start of classes, Emily brings it back up again. It’s the same old things; Emily wants her to apologize for what she’d said to Hagrid, but Emily doesn’t understand — she never has and never will. Emily doesn’t understand the part of her that craves love, that craves affection, that craves a family. How can one be so desperate for something they’ve always had? Emily’s parents have always been good to their daughter, their only child, and Emily was never starved for attention.

When the other girls begin to enter the dormitory, Darcy urges Emily to at least talk about it in the common room, not wanting anyone to listen in. Emily agrees, and the two find a quiet corner in the common room to argue, well away from any ears. “He’s a killer, Darcy,” she hisses. No one pays them any mind, but Emily glances around anyway. “You can’t seriously believe those things about him.”

“What’s so crazy about it?” Darcy asks, incredulous. “You don’t think he actually loved me? You think he just put on a show for Hagrid?”

“It’s not you,” Emily admits, fidgeting in her chair. The situation and conversation makes her uncomfortable with each counterargument from Darcy’s mouth, but she won’t back down. Darcy needs to make her  _ see _ . “I can’t see Sirius Black loving anyone. He killed all those people and  _ laughed _ afterwards — he shows no remorse for any of it and…” She trails off upon seeing the hurt on Darcy’s face. “You have other people who love you — me, Harry, Carla, and Gemma.” Emily pauses, giving Darcy a severe look that almost reminds her of Professor McGonagall. “And Hagrid.”

“Don’t you dare guilt me into apologizing,” Darcy frowns. Anger flares inside her yet again. 

“Hagrid has loved you far more than Sirius Black ever has or will,” Emily reasons. “Hagrid is your friend, and he’s got enough on his plate without you adding to it.”

“Emily, you haven’t seen the pictures,” Darcy protests, plunging on recklessly. Emily sits back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “Sirius Black wasn’t always bad, I know it. The way he looked at my parents, at me — I know that he loved me. I can feel it when I have the dream.”

“What pictures?” asks Emily, a hint of suspicion in her tone. “I haven’t seen any pictures of Sirius and your parents.”

Darcy blushes, looking away sheepishly. “Professor Lupin had them,” she admits. “He showed them to me.”

“Ah,” Emily replies, raising her eyebrows. There’s a pregnant pause as Darcy meets her friend’s eyes, furrowing her brows. “How much time did you spend with Professor Lupin while I wasn’t here to keep you away from him?”

Darcy scans her friend’s face, pursing her lips. “We had dinner a few times,” she says, not quite a lie. If she were to deny it, Emily would sniff out the real truth soon enough. “It was lonely without you guys. He kept me company, and I did the same for him.”

When Darcy goes to bed that night, though, she can’t stop thinking of Sirius Black. She knows what he is — a killer, a murderer, the reason her parents are dead — but is that the whole truth? How could someone go from looking at their friends with love in their eyes to wanting them dead? Sirius had come back — for her, for Harry.  _ Why _ ? Sirius had held her, saved her, loved her for a few short minutes until she had been torn away from his chest, given to family who didn’t love her, who didn’t want her, who  _ never _ wanted her. And say Hagrid had left her with Sirius, and say Hagrid was right and Sirius had killed her — in those moments before he killed her, he would have loved her more than Petunia or Vernon ever had in eighteen years. Maybe Petunia had shown a distant affection, a few quick glances where her gaze wasn’t offensive, but Darcy knows the truth behind those stares. Petunia had scolded her when she was thirteen for something she wasn’t able to help. 

“Do you know why Vernon hates you so?” Petunia had asked sharply all those years ago, after he’d swatted her across the face for dropping a fork on the ground. Petunia hadn’t let him hit her more than once, but Darcy had had an inkling that it was only because she didn’t want word to get around that Vernon beat the children they’d taken in, and not because Petunia harbored any love for her. “He hates you because you look like Lily. A constant reminder that my family is — is —” Petunia couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence, but Darcy had understood. 

The day after that, Darcy had dyed her hair a rich chestnut brown color after begging Petunia to pick some up at the store for her. The idea appealed to Petunia, so she obliged, but when Darcy had looked in the mirror afterwards, she was a stranger. Darcy’s red hair had been a source of pride for her. It reminded her of her mother, whom she’d adored so much. She felt beautiful with it, just like her beautiful mother before it, and she’d cried as she dyed it, locked in the bathroom.

And a few weeks later, Darcy had gone to Emily’s house, where she’d cried throughout the entire first night, admitting to her best friend what Petunia had said. The very next day, Emily’s father brought them to the store, and Emily picked out a beautiful auburn red color for Darcy’s hair, and Emily changed the color from brown to red once more. Emily had told her she was beautiful with red hair, had told her that she should never be ashamed of who she was — a Potter. But upon returning back to the Dursleys two weeks later, Petunia had shamed her, and Vernon was so angry Darcy thought he could have spat in her face just because her hair was red again. 

Darcy dreams of a life with Sirius, growing up with him brushing her long, red hair and telling her how beautiful she was. A life where she never has to feel ashamed of who she is, of things she can’t change or help. A life where Sirius tells happy stories about her parents when they were younger. She imagines a life where she gets excited about returning home for the holidays, a life where Lupin spends time with them, and Sirius lets her have friends over for her birthdays and she receives gifts — real gifts that mean something to her. But as she dreams, she realizes that something is missing, and quickly realizes that Harry isn’t a part of that life — Harry is at the Dursleys, alone and afraid. 

The last thing she dreams before she wakes is Sirius holding her close, and she’s eighteen instead of four, and Sirius is older — Lupin’s age now — but he’s still Sirius. His face is more lined, his hair streaked with a little more gray, but it’s  _ him _ , and he holds her to his chest just like he did all those years ago. When Darcy goes to rest her cheek against his chest, she wakes up in a cold sweat, unsure of how to feel. 

Part of her is disgusted with herself for ever imagining a life without her brother involved. She’s disgusted with herself for imagining such a happy life for herself with the man who betrayed her parents, who got them killed, who ruined her entire life. She wonders if the Sirius in her dreams is still a murderer, or if he’s just the charming boy in the old photographs Lupin had shown her. She wishes Lupin were there now to comfort her, to go through the pictures with her once more, and she wonders just for a minute what he would do if she were to show up at his apartments so late at night.

When she pushes her thoughts of Lupin to the back of mind — yet again — she sighs loudly, surprised no one wakes at the sound. Her heart is full, and it’s almost as if she can still feel Sirius’s arms around her. She closes her eyes, hoping to fall back into a deep sleep, hoping to dream of another life, hoping to dream of Sirius once again. How wonderful it is not to dream of her mother being murdered, for that would make the whole thing too real, that would forcibly remind her of what Sirius Black is, despite the love he may once have had for her.

In the darkness, Darcy grabs her wand off her bedside table and grabs the leatherbound photo album from under her bed. With a snap of her wrist, the tip of her wand lights up and she uses it to look at all the pictures yet again. She flips to the picture of her parents on their wedding day, and it makes her smile. Tonight, the Darcy in the photograph is clinging tightly to her father’s leg with one arm, and Sirius’s leg with the other. The three adults beam up at her, waving. It makes Darcy want to cry. 

From inside her pillow case, Darcy withdraws another picture, the one Lupin gave her of himself and her as a young baby. She admires it for a moment, grinning when Lupin adjusts the paper for her. Then, she puts it in the photo album next to the picture with Sirius in it. With the tip of her index finger, Darcy touches Lupin’s face, wishing she could feel his skin under her finger, wishing she could feel his lips against her’s. 

She looks over at Emily’s bed; the curtains are never drawn around them, as all the girls are rather comfortable with each other after sharing a dormitory for seven years. There was a time where Darcy had envied Emily and her life, her two parents who love each other still, who spoil her during holidays and give her attention whenever she requires it. She hasn’t felt that anger and envy in so long, but now it comes back in earnest, making Darcy feel sick. 

Sniffling, she closes the book and puts it down, along with her wand, and Darcy slides out of her bed, the floor cold on her bare feet. She pulls the blankets back on Emily’s small bed and climbs in beside her friend. Emily stirs, but only moves enough so Darcy has room to lie down. She remembers the first time they’d shared a bed — they always had as young girls, sleeping in Emily’s bed when Darcy stayed at her house. It was a comfort to Darcy then, and it’s comforting now, as well. No matter how much Emily will disagree with Darcy, Darcy knows that Emily will always love her. They snuggle closer to each other and Darcy has no trouble falling back asleep, her dreams plagued with Lupin’s face and Sirius’s warm hugs. 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finished this chapter while chain smoking and almost felt like a ~real~ author

Classes resume as normal, and with the start of term comes enormous amounts of work. Darcy and Emily find they have no more free time as the year progresses, and free periods are no longer used for talking — Snape hits them hard with essays, McGonagall gives them three new spells to learn by the end of the week, and Lupin keeps them working at more advanced non-verbal spells. Darcy and Emily still have yet to sit in on an Ancient Runes or Herbology class, so the prospect of even more work makes them even more weary. With their brains constantly full to bursting with brand new information, Darcy and Emily have a hard time with the non-verbal spells, but also find it’s great fun to practice, and on Tuesday, they wake with fresh bruises and cuts where they’d been hit by spells and furniture.

Wednesday, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry’s Firebolt is again the topic of discussion. 

“ _ Psst _ — hey —  _ hey!  _ —  _ Darcy _ —”

Darcy stops writing, looking up at the boy in front of her with a half-raised eyebrow. Oliver Wood leans back in his chair so only two legs are on the ground, and Darcy remembers herself doing the same thing over the summer while eating ice cream sundaes. In his robes, his shoulders look much wider than usual. “ _ What _ ?” she hisses back. Lupin’s back is turned towards the class as he writes on the blackboard, and Darcy brushes the feather of her quill across her lips as Oliver looks over his shoulder to make sure Lupin isn’t listening. 

“Is it true?” Oliver whispers. “You gave Harry’s Firebolt up to McGonagall?”

Emily chuckles softly beside Darcy, still scratching away with her quill on her parchment, filled with notes. Darcy leans across the table towards Oliver, lowering her voice. “That was not me, thank you very much,” Darcy replies quietly, and Oliver cracks a smile. “And you better be nice to Hermione, Oliver, or else —”

Lupin turns around suddenly and his eyes meet Darcy’s. She gives Oliver a withering glare and sits back down in her seat fully, dipping her quill into her inkpot and continuing to write again. Oliver twists in his seat and puts all four of the chair’s feet down on the ground, and Lupin seems content after that, turning his back on the class once again. But Oliver doesn’t give up so easily. As soon as Lupin has turned, he leans back to speak with Darcy again. “I haven’t done anything to Hermione,” he says defensively, his voice barely more than a whisper. Darcy continues to write, listening. “Why don’t  _ you _ talk to McGonagall? About getting the Firebolt back? Harry needs to start practicing on it.”

“Look,” Darcy sighs, putting her quill down again. Oliver glances towards the front of the classroom again. “I love Harry, and I love watching Gryffindor win at Quidditch, but I will not face the wrath of McGonagall over a stupid broomstick. How many times have you asked her, anyway?”

“Enough times,” Oliver answers, making Darcy smile. “Fine, no more than six.” Darcy rolls her eyes. “And she told me not to ask again.”

Darcy leans forward again, pushing her hair behind her shoulders as not to get wet ink on it. “So you would send me?” she scoffs. “I wouldn’t leave that classroom alive. Or I would, but it’d be as a toad.”

Oliver pauses, then looks at Emily. “Emily —”

“No,” Emily says curtly, not even looking up at Oliver. Darcy snickers, and Lupin turns around again, the book in his left hand opened to a middle chapter, and he points at Oliver with the chalk in his right hand.

“Oliver…” he says exasperatedly. Oliver smiles sweetly, putting his chair down on all fours again, and Lupin mutters his thanks before writing again.

Despite his warning, Oliver turns around yet again and puts his hands on the table in front of Darcy. “Just once — just ask her for a status update,” Oliver begs, his voice barely there. “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” Darcy repeats, raising both her eyebrows nearly to her hairline. She taps her chin with her quill, thinking hard, entertaining the idea for only a moment. Oliver nods, and Darcy elbows Emily in the arm playfully. “Are you flirting with me, Oliver Wood?” she asks, looking back down at her notes. Oliver’s head blocks part of the blackboard, and she tries to move to see around him.

“Do you want me to?”

“No, not really.”

“Your hair looks really nice today, Darcy,” Oliver grins, resting his head on his arms, situated comfortably on her desk. Darcy’s cheeks turn pink and she ignores him, shaking her head. “It looks so soft.”

“That’s because she brushed it today,” Emily jests.

“And you have the most beautiful eyes… have I ever told you that?” Oliver continues, making Darcy blush furiously. She stares at the back of Lupin’s head, hoping he’ll feel her eyes boring a hole in him, hoping he’ll turn around and catch Oliver again. “Green eyes are my favorite, and I’ll admit — I do have a weakness for redheads.”

Darcy looks out of the corner of her eye to Gemma, who’s laughing to herself. Her long nose is scrunched and she acknowledges Oliver with a sneer. She keeps copying notes, her nose almost brushing the parchment. Emily, at Darcy’s side, gives Oliver a very stern look, as if that’s ever helped once in the seven years they’ve all known each other. Then she slaps at Oliver’s hand as if he’s a bug she’s trying to shoo away, and Darcy can’t help but smile again.

“Ow —  _ hey _ !” he spits at Emily. Oliver rubs the top of his hand, giving Emily a scowl before turning back to Darcy. “Your smile is absolutely gorgeous, Darcy —”

Lupin clears his throat from the front of the classroom, and when Darcy looks up at him, her entire face turns beet red. She covers her face with her hands, rubbing her temples and dragging her fingers through her hair. “Oliver, I’m sure to many women you’re…  _ irresistible  _ and very —  _ charming _ ,” Lupin begins, making the class chuckle. “But I’m quite sure Darcy is not interested. Perhaps you hadn’t heard her when she told you she didn’t want you to flirt with her?”

This makes Gemma laugh out loud, and at the sound of her laugh, the entire class follows. Even Emily laughs. Oliver turns a brighter red than Darcy and turns around, scribbling on his parchment. Darcy looks up at Lupin. He smiles at her kindly, closes the book in his hand, and begins a new lesson, pacing around the classroom and lecturing them with a spring in his step. When the bell rings to end the class, Darcy, Emily, and Gemma sneak out the door first before anyone can stop them. She hadn’t really planned on staying to talk to Professor Lupin, but she feels that it probably would have been an appropriate time.

Harry’s anger with Darcy slowly subsides over the first few days when he finally accepts Darcy had nothing to do with his Firebolt being taken away, though he does find comfort in constantly asking his sister why she hadn’t claimed she bought it for him herself. However, that doesn’t mean his anger with Hermione subsides, despite Darcy’s protests that Hermione meant well. Hermione spends a lot of time attached to Darcy’s hip after the incident, and while Darcy wishes she’d leave her alone sometimes, she doesn’t want to say anything that’ll hurt Hermione even more. However, it’s tiring having Hermione around, so she’s thankful that on Thursday, Hermione decides to skip lunch to spend time in the library.

About halfway through lunch, Professor Lupin finds Darcy easily enough, greets her friends, and then crouches down between Darcy and Emily, grinning. “I’ve found a boggart for this evening’s lesson,” he explains, watching Darcy stuff a forkful of potatoes in her mouth. At the mention of this evening’s lesson, Darcy frowns. “Darcy, would I be asking too much of you to help me wrangle it into a briefcase?”

Darcy swallows her potatoes and looks at Emily, then looks at Harry and Ron seated across from her. She lowers her fork and meets Lupin’s eyes, pursing her lips so tightly that she reminds herself of Petunia. Truthfully, she’d completely forgotten about the Patronus lessons with everything that has been going on, from Hermione trailing her around like a lost puppy dog, to the disgusting amount of homework for Transfiguration McGonagall had given them. “I have Ancient Runes next, sorry,” she says, going back to her food. His face so close to her’s makes her anxious and her face reddens. “I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle, Professor.”

Lupin chuckles. “You flatter me.”

If she’s really being honest with herself, seeing a boggart is the very last thing she wants to do. She hadn’t really thought about it before, but now it seems so obvious — of course Lupin couldn’t just walk a dementor into Hogwarts. But a boggart — she shudders — seems just as bad. Perhaps Harry’s boggart turns into one of those wretched things, but dementors certainly aren’t her worst fear. It makes her feel foolish, not wanting to face a boggart; she remembers learning about them in her third year, as well, but back then life was much simpler, as were her fears. She doesn’t even remember what her boggart had turned into, that’s how stupid it had been. Those were the days before Harry came to Hogwarts — the days when Hogwarts truly  _ was _ the safest place in the world. There were no giant snakes or spiders, no mass murderers or dementors, no three-headed dogs and no Voldemort on the back of someone’s head. But now, Darcy isn’t so sure what a boggart would turn into if she were to face one. Although during the past two and half years, she’s learned that one of her worst fears is losing Harry, and she definitely doesn’t want to have to face that. And if the boggart decides to feed on another of her fears? How? How would a boggart turn into Darcy’s uncalled for fear of becoming Aunt Petunia? How would a boggart turn into her lifelong nightmares, or her fear of loneliness?

“If you’re late to Ancient Runes, I’ll talk Professor Babbling myself about it,” Lupin suggests.

The idea of missing even a little bit of Ancient Runes entices her and Darcy puts her silverware back down, rising from her seat. “Done,” she says, but the idea of a boggart still gives her anxiety. She looks at Emily, raising her eyebrows. “Make sure your notes are legible, please.”

Emily mutters under her breath as Lupin escorts Darcy from the Great Hall. He leads her up the marble staircase in silence, his fingertips ghosting across her back as he rounds corners and hurries along. Finally, Lupin opens a small door and holds it for her; she enters without a second thought, but Lupin has to duck slightly lest he hit his head on the frame. She’s never been in this classroom before, and it doesn’t seem that many people have in the last few years. The desks are covered with dust, the chalkboard filled with profanity (likely Peeves’s work), and the only sound is the rattling and violent shaking of the old teacher’s desk, presumably due to the boggart in it. Lupin has clearly prepared for this, as he picks up a briefcase sitting beside the desk and opens it, readying it for the boggart.

Darcy stands off to the side of the classroom, brushing the dust off a desk and sitting on it. Her legs dangle a few inches above the ground and she swings them back and forth, watching Lupin carefully. With a lazy wave of his wand, the desk drawer opens and sometime silvery rises from inside of it. It starts out small, no larger than a golf ball, but as it adjusts to the unlimited amount of space outside of the drawer, it grows and grows and grows, bigger and bigger until it surpasses the size of a bowling ball and it stops when it’s twice that size. Darcy’s eyes snap from the full moon hanging in the air to Lupin, who shows no sign of fear.  _ He knows the boggart cannot harm him _ , she thinks.  _ He knows there is nothing to fear. _ He looks bored, and as he opens his mouth and points his wand at it, Darcy leaps from the desk, making Lupin jump and turn to face her, as the moon continues to linger in the air.

“I want to try,” she whispers, and Lupin hesitates for a fraction of a second.

“I’m not going to force you if you don’t want to —”

“I do. I want to.” Darcy fumbles in her pocket for her wand, but takes it out all the same as Lupin goes to move away, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving them a gentle squeeze before sitting down on the desk where Darcy had just been.

Even before the boggart senses a change in fears, Darcy’s heart sinks to her stomach and she begins to tremble.  _ I shouldn’t have done this _ , she tells herself.  _ I shouldn’t have done this. I don’t want to see whatever the boggart has to show me _ . The fear of not knowing what the boggart will turn into is the worst part of it all so far — the anticipation makes her anxious, and she fears the boggart will make a mockery of her deepest fear in front of Lupin.  _ It’s just a boggart, it cannot hurt me _ . Darcy readies her wand as the boggart undergoes its swift transformation, the full moon disappearing almost into thin air.  _ I am a Gryffindor. I am brave. I am a Potter. A boggart will not defeat me. I am not afraid _ .

Darcy glances at Lupin and she knows he can feel her fear, judging by the way he has gotten to his feet, looking almost too ready to jump in and help her if need be. Darcy almost changes her mind about facing the boggart, knowing Lupin would not ridicule her decision or think her weak or frightened. She is safe with Lupin, here in this classroom — he will not allow the boggart to defeat her —  _ I am with him. I am safe. I am not afraid. I am a Gryffindor  _ —

The boggart finally transforms, leaving the silvery full moon behind completely. And when it reforms into Darcy’s worst fear, all is lost. She should have known that’s what the boggart would choose to turn into, and for a moment Darcy is frozen with fear, an ice cold chill coming over her, her spine tingling, as she stares down at her the body of her little brother. He looks up at her, his glasses smashed against his face, his scar clearly visible through his dark hair, his mouth slightly open. Blood leaks from somewhere underneath his clothing, pooling around his body.  _ It’s just a boggart _ , she reminds herself, taking a step backwards.  _ Harry’s okay, he’s alive, and I’ll see him tonight in the common room. _ Yet despite that, she makes no move to banish the boggart. How is she supposed to? How can she find it in herself to laugh after seeing her baby brother dead? How can she possibly turn that into something funny? Darcy takes another step backwards.

She wants to look away — she  _ has _ to look away — but she can’t. The longer she looks, the more it hurts, but it draws her eyes and she can’t stop looking at her brother’s face —  _ no, the boggart’s face. _

Darcy can’t help but feel stripped, naked, completely vulnerable. Shame rises in her, and she can feel Lupin’s eyes on her, probably wondering when he should cut in and save her from the humiliation. Her worst fear, laid out on the floor for him to see — the boggart is mocking her, staring her right in the face with those green eyes that are Harry’s — that are her’s. Without being able to stop it, Darcy starts to cry, covering her eyes to force herself to stop looking. And at the sound of her sobs, Lupin decides it’s time to step in, and he puts himself between the boggart and Darcy, seeming a little breathless when he shouts, “ _ Riddikulus _ !” There’s a loud CRACK and Darcy hears the briefcase snap closed, lock, and rattle against the desk.

When the boggart is safely packed away, Lupin turns to Darcy frantically. Darcy lowers her hands, allowing Lupin to come nearer, closer and closer until he’s inches away, and if she were to stand on her tiptoes and just lean forward, just barely, their lips would touch. But Darcy isn’t much in the mood for kissing anyone, not even Lupin, not with all the energy drained from her, exhausted from such a horrible, tragic sight. Tears fall freely down her cheeks and she looks up at him. Lupin reaches out to touch her face, pulling away at the last second.

“It’s not real,” he whispers. Lupin seems unsure of himself, his hands held out awkwardly in front of her. “None of it is real —”

Darcy falls into him, burying her face in his chest. The warmth of his body envelopes her, and Lupin seems to have regained his confidence again. Lupin touches her chin, gently tilting her head back, and he looks at her for a minute before wiping her tear stained cheeks with his thumbs. When Darcy’s cheeks are dry, he smooths her hair down with the back of his fingers. It’s then that Darcy realizes no one has ever wiped her tears away before, and she feels a rush of affection for him. She wants to kiss him, to fling her arms around him, to stay nuzzled in his chest forever, but — “I’m sorry,” she breathes, bile rising in the back of her throat at the words forcing themselves out of her mouth. “I am so, so sorry —”

“Sorry?” Lupin asks, giving her a nervous laugh and holding her out at arm’s length. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Darcy pauses, shrugging his hands off her arms. She knows that when she says it, everything will stop that she’s enjoyed — there will be no more lazy and distracted touches, no more gentle and reassuring squeezes, no more of the comfort she finds when he wraps his arms around her even for just a few short seconds. “Hagrid saw us that day, near the forest,” she says, her voice low. “He told Dumbledore.” When Lupin doesn’t answer right away, Darcy tells him what she recalls of her and Dumbledore’s conversation. It takes her a few minutes to remember everything, but throughout that time, Lupin’s face stays blank and he doesn’t seem surprised. She trails off at the end and looks down at her feet. “But Dumbledore already told you, didn’t he?”

Lupin nods slowly. “Yes, he did.” He clears his throat and motions to the dusted off desk. “Maybe we should sit?”

She obliges. Lupin sits beside her, turning his body to face her. Their knees brush lightly, but neither of them flinch away. Darcy’s cheeks must be bright red, as they’re burning and aching. Her stomach churns and she can’t meet his eyes. She doesn’t want to have this conversation, not now — not ever. How stupid could she have been — how irresponsible, how starved for affection had she been that she thought it was appropriate to seek out Lupin?

“Professor Dumbledore voiced his concerns to me,” Lupin explains, holding his hands in his lap. “Nothing unkind, and he made no mention of anything, er —  _ specific _ . I think he had always been expecting there to be a — closeness — between us given the — situation, and after the… incident.” With each word, his speech slows, and when Darcy looks at him, he looks increasingly uncomfortable. Darcy’s shoulder twinges just for a split second, the scars throbbing once. Lupin gets to his feet and paces in front of Darcy.

“Professor,” she says, watching him walk back and forth. “I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to — to — I didn’t mean to  _ kiss _ you, I mean — I did, but — everything happened so quickly and I shouldn’t have —”

“Darcy,” Lupin chuckles, stopping her stammering. When she quiets, his smile falls, making him look nervous. He stops pacing and stands with his hands behind his back and they look at each other. “You’re a sweet girl, and I fear I’ve taken advantage of your kindness.” His words are curt and professional, but he doesn’t seem cold. In fact, he looks at her apologetically. “It was a momentary lapse of judgement, and I promise you it will not happen again.”

Darcy digests this. It’s exactly what she’d expected, and for some reason it isn’t as painful as she’d expected, nor does it make her want to run far, far away from him.  _ Taken advantage of your kindness _ , she says to herself again.  _ A momentary lapse of judgement _ . But she knows it wasn’t his fault — it was her’s. Darcy suddenly feels dirty, as if somehow by kissing him the day after a full moon — when Lupin had been so weak, so exhausted, so scatterbrained — she’d taken advantage of him.  _ No _ , she thinks,  _ he wanted to kiss me. I went to leave and he came back to kiss me again _ . Even so… “Professor, it’s my fault, I —”

Lupin smiles incredulously despite everything, and he shakes his head, holding up a hand to stop her. He suddenly frowns, a flash of revulsion crossing across his face. “I am not what you want, and certainly not what you deserve,” he sighs. “I would hate to see you lose everything because of me.”

She doesn’t quite believe either of those things are true, but Darcy doesn’t feel now is the best time to say so. Instead she says, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I got to meet you.”

He takes a long time to respond. “Me too.”

“Can we still have dinner together?”

And then, Lupin smiles again, making Darcy smile in turn. It warms her heart. “We’ll already be practicing Patronuses once a week as it is,” he teases. “Once a week isn’t enough for you?”

Darcy doesn’t answer, but looks away sheepishly. 

“If we start seeing each other too often, you may grow tired of me.”

“But Professor,” Darcy shrugs. “I could never grow tired of you.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell ya what, i'm not complaining about this nor'easter causing my work to close !!

After the incident with the boggart, Lupin doesn’t protest when she decides she’d rather skip their first Patronus lesson. Harry hounds her about it for a little while, but when she snaps at him finally about not feeling well, Harry drops it. The boggart has shaken her to her core — more so than the awkward conversation with Lupin, which seems stupid when compared with the boggart. The image of Harry, dead and bloodied in front of her, hangs over her during classes, during meals in the Great Hall, and the meals she takes with Lupin (they now eat in his office once again). Lupin hasn’t brought up the boggart, but Darcy isn’t sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to embarrass her, or if it’s because he doesn’t want to recall the conversation they’d had just after it all happened.

The past two dinners she’s had with Lupin have been quiet, slightly uncomfortable, and very short. He doesn’t read outloud to her in his office, and Darcy’s too nervous about someone walking in on them to talk about anything personal — anything she wouldn’t tell another teacher, which turns out to be a good thing; Professor McGonagall had stopped by Lupin’s office during their most recent dinner, asking questions about Harry’s Firebolt. She had seemed more confused at the scene in his office than anything, and requested that Darcy ask Harry and Oliver Wood to stop asking about the broomstick. 

The thought of losing Harry now plagues her dreams — Darcy still dreams of Sirius Black most nights, and for a few minutes in her dreams, all is well with his arms wrapped around her, protecting her and shielding her from all the dangers in the world before handing her over to Hagrid, and Hagrid always turns into Harry then, the same Harry the boggart had turned into. Darcy wakes often in the nights again, sweating, and about once a week ends up going to Madam Pomfrey for something to help her sleep. And with each passing day, the dreams only get worse. She dreams of her mother again, murdered in front of her, over and over and over, and she finds herself longing for dreams of Lupin again, despite the shame they make her feel — anything to keep the nightmares at bay. And with the nightmares back, things continue to worsen for Darcy. The following weeks are gray and bleak, cold and bitter, and the entire school is soon freezing. Classes seem to go on forever, the days surely last longer than twenty-four hours, and Darcy tosses and turns in her bed at night for hours before finally falling asleep. 

The Saturday of the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw Quidditch game, Oliver and Darcy meet Emily, Harry, Hermione, and Ron in the stands. Across the pitch, Gemma and Carla cheer on Slytherin together among a sea of students dressed in green and silver robes waving green and silver flags. Darcy can’t even find it in herself to be happy about the Slytherin defeating Ravenclaw, despite Oliver Wood’s protests of “it’s a good thing — trust me, it’s a good thing” all the way back up to the castle.

And after missing the first Patronus lesson, Darcy doesn’t miss another. The second week she’d gone, Darcy had shown up with Ancient Runes homework that she’d put off for the entire week, and Lupin let her sit off to the side, as she watched Harry struggle with the boggart-dementor. Being a boggart, Darcy hadn’t thought she had anything fear, but each time the boggart-dementor came rising out of Lupin’s briefcase, she’d close her eyes and see it all again — the flash of green light, her mother kissing her forehead and her nose and her lips, Voldemort laughing upon seeing Harry in the crib — until Lupin would force the boggart back into the trunk and give them each a piece of chocolate. Darcy’s just grateful that the memories aren’t as clear as they are when in the presence of a real dementor.

Darcy can’t help to be proud of Harry, though. His Patronus, while barely more than what she’d produced her first day at Hogwarts, is still an impressive feat for a thirteen-year-old, but since starting the ‘anti-dementor lessons’, Darcy gets the feeling that Harry isn’t telling her something. With Oliver Wood demanding Quidditch practice to take place five nights a week, she assumes he’s upset about still not getting the Firebolt back, but she doesn’t think that’s the only thing bothering him. Harry seems too eager to have his Patronus lessons, too eager to face a boggart-dementor, but Darcy can’t understand why — surely he hears and sees the same things that she does. She doesn’t want to ask him, but she wonders if he feels the same way she does when she’s struck with those memories.  

During the third lesson, Harry turns to Darcy with chocolate in his mouth. Tonight, she’s brought her cauldron, and she stirs it counterclockwise three times and, to her brother’s surprise, tastes it. It’s tasteless, however, and she records this on a piece of parchment with cramped writing all over it. 

“Darcy,” Harry says. When she looks up at him, his face is white and sweaty, but the chocolate helps return some faint color to his cheeks. Perched atop her usual desk, she awaits his request, knowing what he’s going to ask before he asks. “Why don’t you take a turn? I want to see your Patronus.”

“No, thank you,” Darcy replies, stirring her potion clockwise this time. She flips a page of her textbook. If the boggart were to stay as a dementor, she might give it a try, but Harry doesn’t know that her worst fear is losing him, and she doesn’t want him to have to know that at all, let alone look upon it. Even so, Darcy doesn’t think she can think of a happy enough memory to conjure a real Patronus. That seems to be Harry’s main problem as well, but it barely discourages him. Though, if she’s being honest — and she’s trying very hard to be honest with herself lately — the brief memory of her and Sirius gives her such joy sometimes that she often wonders if that memory would be strong enough, but she doesn’t want to tell anyone that’s the only memory she could think of and she definitely doesn’t want to admit that she privately enjoys the dreams with Sirius Black in them.

“Come on, Darcy,” Harry pleads. “You haven’t tried once since we’ve started.”

“No, thank you,” she says again, not looking up from her cauldron this time. 

“Darcy —”

But Lupin cuts him off. “If she doesn’t want a turn, we shouldn’t force her,” Lupin tells Harry, glancing at Darcy and flashing her a small smile. “She very politely refused, and you should respect her decision because she is your sister and you love her.”

It seems, according to the confused look on Harry’s face, that that’s the last thing he’d expected to hear out of Lupin’s mouth. Professor Lupin just smiles at him to indicate he means no disrespect, and waits for Harry to ready himself for another go at the boggart-dementor. However, Harry seems to have taken his words to heart, because Harry doesn’t ask again throughout the entire lesson, though Darcy is sure that Harry will confront her afterwards about it. But what is she supposed to tell him? How is she supposed to explain that she can’t have a go because Harry’s own dead and mangled body will appear before them, not a dementor?

After that night’s lesson, Lupin asks to have a word with her. As Darcy cleans up her area, dumping out the test potion she’d started and throwing away the extra and useless ingredients, Harry leaves her and Lupin to talk in the empty classroom. Lupin watches her, leaning against the old teacher’s desk at the front, his arms folded over his chest. “What potion have you been working so hard on tonight?” he asks.

“It’s not really a potion,” Darcy tells him. “Snape is having us try and create our own, but I’m having a hard time getting mine to do…  _ anything _ .”

“Create a potion?” Lupin seems taken aback by this. “What if it’s poisonous?”

“Don’t worry, the ingredients we’ve been told to use won’t actually create any poisons,” Darcy assures him. “It’s Snape’s way of showing us that he cares, I suppose, by making sure we don’t kill ourselves.”

Lupin doesn’t seem convinced. “It still seems dangerous.”

“I think he’s just getting lazy.”

Lupin laughs softly, but stops when he realizes Darcy hasn’t even cracked a smile. “Would you like some chocolate? I have a small piece left, I think,” he says, reaching into his pocket, but Darcy shakes her head. He looks up at her and frowns. “Darcy — not that I think you’re terrible company, but — are you sure you want to be here? I can’t say I’m fond of the idea of you sitting here once a week, forced to relive terrible memories because of a dementor.”

“It’s just a boggart,” she snaps, flushing a deep red. “It’s not even a real dementor.”

Lupin’s face softens. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking over his shoulder at the rattling briefcase. “I didn’t mean — you shouldn’t feel ashamed.”

Darcy looks down at her feet. “I’m not ashamed.”

“All right.” He hesitates, grabbing the briefcase off the desk. “I’ll see you tomorrow night for dinner?”

Darcy nods. “Yes.”

A long, awkward silence follows. “We could have dinner in front of the fire again. I could have something good brought up from the kitchens,” he suggests. “I could talk to the house-elves, if you’d like.”

“I don’t want you to do that just because you feel sorry for me.”

Lupin moves closer to her, touching her arm. Darcy looks up into his face again. “I wouldn’t be doing it because I feel sorry for you,” he tells her. He lowers his hand, sighing. “I don’t think I’ve seen you smile in weeks. Would a nice dinner make you smile again?”

Darcy narrows her eyes at him. She has to admit, it has been a long time since they’ve shown any affection towards each other, even the slightest bit — ever since their conversation after the boggart incident, he’s acted much more professional towards her instead of like the friend to her he had been. She misses their closeness, but what Lupin’s suggesting seems like toeing the line, and getting in trouble with Dumbledore isn’t something she wants to happen anytime soon. “What does it matter?” she asks. 

Lupin doesn’t answer her question. “Shall I talk to the house-elves?”

She considers him, finally nodding again. Then, feeling slightly hopeful about his potential answer, she says, “I have a bottle of firewhisky.”

He gives her an exasperated look. Lupin runs a hand through his hair and scoffs. “Darcy, you —” He laughs. “You can’t just  _ say  _ that —”

“Sorry,” she mutters, not wanting to push it. Having her full bottle of firewhisky confiscated would be the cherry on top of everything else going on. Darcy leaves quickly, still thinking about the firewhisky when she reaches the common room.

The next evening, Darcy makes her way to Lupin’s office (lacking her bottle of Firewhisky). When she enters, he’s clearing up his office, the hidden door to his apartments open. He smiles when he sees her, stands up straight, and follows her into his apartments, closing the door behind him. There’s already a fire roaring in the fireplace, and two plates are set on the table between the hearth and the sofa, full of food and desserts. Darcy’s stomach growls at the sight of the food, and even she has to admit to herself that Lupin’s outdone himself — the house-elves have provided them with all of Darcy’s favorite foods that she’s ever mentioned in passing, and some that she can’t remember ever mentioning at all. Thick slices of roast beef cooked perfectly rare, fried tomatoes, baked potatoes, and even sprouts, and stuffed on her plate with all the other food is a decent slice of hot apple pie with ice cream scooped on top. She turns to Lupin, who’s fetching silverware out of a drawer, his back turned to him.

When he turns around, he catches Darcy staring at him and stops in his tracks, his face falling. “What?” he asks quickly. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” she answers breathlessly, wanting nothing more than to kiss him right there. “This is — you didn’t have to —”

“It’s nothing,” Lupin replies gruffly, moving quickly towards the sofa and taking a seat. “You know the house-elves — they wanted to make sure we were well fed.”

“Thank you.”

As they start to eat, conversation comes more naturally. Lupin tells her of Harry’s success in his class, of his ambition and confidence in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He puts music on to fill the silence, and they listen while they eat, and Darcy wishes she could spend every single night like this. They steal sideways glances at each other, and Lupin asks that Darcy get two glasses out of a cabinet. She does as he asks without complaint, and both of their cheeks turn pink when she turns around to find Lupin forcibly tearing his gaze away from a fixed point that is far below her shoulders. 

When they finish with their desserts, Darcy rests back on the sofa, her stomach fuller than it has been in a while. She feels too comfortable for her own good, slightly sleepy, and warm from the fire. “I should have brought the Firewhisky,” she mutters, making Lupin chuckle. “Though, it would probably put me to sleep.” 

After a few minutes, Lupin stands and walks over to a small cabinet off towards the tiny room where he sleeps. He crouches down before the cabinet. It sounds like glass clinking, whatever he’s reaching for, and Darcy peers over the back of the sofa, blushing furiously when she catches herself staring at him, feeling her heart start to race as she presses herself as deep as possible into the couch. 

“I shouldn’t even be entertaining the very idea of this...” Lupin starts and Darcy raises an eyebrow. When he returns to the sofa, he has a thin bottle of mead in his hand. Halfway through unscrewing the bottle cap, Lupin looks at her very seriously, his eyebrows raised. “One glass and no more, and don’t say I’ve never done anything for you.”

“I won’t say no to a glass,” Darcy says warily, “but are you sure about this? I mean — I appreciate all you’ve done, but — are you sure?”

“Not at all,” Lupin shrugs, pouring into her glass first. He only fills it halfway. He quickly changes the subject. “Tell me, Darcy, have you given any more thought to what you’re going to do after graduating?”

“No,” she answers with a sigh, sipping at her drink. Lupin pours a full glass for himself, but doesn’t drink it. He sets it on the table and listens to her with a half-smile. “But I’ve still got time.”

“The rest of the year will go by faster than you know.”

“That’s what everyone’s been telling me.” Darcy fingers the rim of her glass, looking him up and down. “What do you think I should do?”

Lupin licks his lips, thinking for a moment. “How much sway will my opinion have on your actual decision?”

“It depends on what your answer is.”

He nods slowly. “All right,” he says. “I think you should go into the Ministry. Even starting as an assistant, you’ll have far more opportunities there than you’ll ever have here.” Lupin picks up his glass and takes a long drink out of it. “You’re smart, talented, determined — you could go far in the Ministry in a short amount of time if you wished it, but you don’t know how long it’ll be until Professor Dumbledore thinks you’re experienced enough to teach your own class. And with Snape teaching Potions, what would that leave you?”

Darcy takes another sip. “You’re flattering me.”

Lupin doesn’t falter. “I’m giving you my honest opinion. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

The soft music in the background is the only sound for a minute as they look at each other. Darcy takes the last sip of her mead and puts the empty glass down. Despite Lupin’s promise of only one glass, he refills it for her, this time pouring a little more than he did the first time. “Maybe I should ask your honest opinion on more things, then,” she shrugs. “Whenever I need a boost to my self-confidence, I could come to you.”

Lupin doesn’t reply, but doesn’t look away from her, either. Finally, after draining his glass, he says, “If you want a compliment, you need only ask.”

She remembers the last time he’d said that to her, and how she’d been too shy to say something. But now, with some mead in her and Lupin’s guard down, she’s willing to push him a little, to see how far she’s able to take it before he shuts her down. “I’d like a compliment.”

He smiles, as if he hadn’t expected her to say so. “I’ve just given you a compliment. Three, in fact. If you keep asking for them, I’ll soon run out.”

For a split second, Darcy almost leaps to him, wanting to press her lips to his neck, kissing him over and over until he finally purrs more compliments in her ear. These thoughts are intensified with each sip of mead she takes, and Lupin refills her glass once more when she finishes her second. The third glass is much easier to drink, and she finishes it quick enough. Cheeks flushed, she decides it’s time to take her leave before she decides to do something stupid. Lupin bids her goodnight at the classroom door, offers to walk her back to the common room, and it’s his offer that makes her smile for the first time that night. Lupin smiles back at her in earnest, and returns to his office when she politely declines an escort back to Gryffindor Tower.

Everyone else falls asleep much faster than Darcy that night, which isn’t a huge surprise. Her thoughts dwell on Lupin tonight, however, and the best dinner she’s ever had. It feels like it has been an eternity since Lupin’s spoken to her like that, so warm and so sure of himself. The entire thing had seemed so intimate — the fire, the dinner, the music, the alcohol, the impulsive and slightly drunken flirting. Even lying in bed now, Darcy still feels her head still buzzing, her pulse pounding in her ears. 

When she does finally fall asleep, Darcy’s dreams are of Lupin, a sweet relief after the nightmares. But her dreams have never been so vivid or obscene — she can feel Lupin’s lips working their way down her jaw, across her collarbones, down her chest and stomach. His tongue darts out just enough to taste her flesh, to give her goosebumps all over. She can feel his beard scratching against the smooth skin of her inner thighs, his fingers gripping her waist tight to keep her from writhing —

Darcy wakes, hot, her chest heaving. As she shifts in her bed, her legs feel damp and she groans, expecting to pull back her sheets to a small pool of blood, but then she remembers her dream and blushes in the darkness, glad that no one is awake to see her wallowing in shame. Darcy pulls the blankets over her head, her core aching and throbbing with every passing second, begging for release.  _ No, _ she tells herself,  _ no, no, no _ . 

But he’ll never have to know, she tries to reason with herself. There’s no reason for him to ever know — she’ll never have to tell him, never have to admit that she dreamt about him in such a vulgar position, his lips touching every inch of bare skin, his head between her legs. Darcy closes her eyes, slowly slipping a trembling hand beneath the waistband of her pajamas and holding her breath as she remembers the way Lupin had kissed her — she inhales sharply —

“Darcy?”

Her eyes snap open and she freezes, half relieved at the interruption. “What?”

Emily sounds still half-asleep. “Are you okay?” 

Darcy lowers the blanket, thankful for the lack of light. Her cheeks burn. “Yeah,” she says a bit too quickly. She pulls her hand out of her pants and promptly rolls over, her back to Emily. “Just had a weird dream, is all.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eh

Since the night she and Lupin had their  _ unusual _ dinner in his apartments, Darcy finds it a little easier to find joy in things, even the smallest of things. While the idea of her boggart still haunts her, it’s easier to push it to the back of her mind lately, surrounded by friends and people who care about her. Her nightmares seem to subside again, as well — though she’s sure that they’ll come back soon enough, just like always — and Darcy begins to smile for what feels like the first time in a lifetime. Between the increase in free time to spend with her friends, and another dinner with Lupin (where she’d found it quite difficult to look him in the eyes for a little while), Darcy’s heart is full to bursting. And with the nearing Quidditch match of Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, Gryffindor House is loud and in high spirits, and with Oliver Wood’s constant reassurance that they  _ will _ win even if Harry has to ride an old broomstick, Darcy can’t help but to share their excitement and confidence. 

To catch up, Darcy and Emily convince each other and their friends to take a night off from homework and studying to catch up with all they’ve missed. It feels like it has been such a long time since she’s had a good evening with Gemma and Carla, and she’s glad for something to look forward to. They decide to meet on Thursday after Darcy and Harry’s Patronus lesson. It goes reasonably well, and Darcy does get an entire Herbology essay done as Lupin locks up the boggart for the last time. Darcy leaves right away, leaving Harry and Lupin to talk amongst themselves, as she rushes up to Gryffindor Tower to drop off her homework, change, and grab the Invisibility Cloak and some alcohol. 

When Darcy finally enters the abandoned classroom and tears off the Invisibility Cloak, her friends scream. Slightly breathless and red in the face, Darcy clears her throat and takes her bottle of firewhisky out from under her cloak and sets it in the middle of the four of them, along with a bottle of wine, a few beers, and — “Ew, who brought gin?”

“Gemma got it for me for Christmas,” Carla snaps defensively, holding up another large bottle of unlabeled juice. “I brought pumpkin juice to wash it down with.” They all scrunch their noses at the idea of mixing the two. “All right, all right… once we’re a little drunk, it won’t seem so bad…”

“You guys started without me?” Darcy asks not unkindly, tossing the Invisibility Cloak on the ground and sitting next to it, in between Gemma and Emily. 

Gemma laughs. “I can only look at a bottle of alcohol for so long until I have to drink it,” she says, pouring Darcy a full glass of wine. “Anyway, you’re late. We agreed on nine-thirty and it’s —” she checks her watch, looking very serious, “ten o’clock.”

“I had a Patronus lesson tonight,” Darcy replies. “You knew that, then I had to run back to the common room for this stupid bottle.”

“ _Patronus_ _lessons_ ,” Gemma chuckles. “Is that what the kids are calling it now?”

Darcy flashes her in impatient look. “Harry was there.”

“How’ve they been going?” Carla wonders, stretching her legs out front of her. Her wild, dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but some ringlets still fall into her face. “Professor Lupin hasn’t taught us anything about Patronuses. We’re only just now starting non-verbal spells. I didn’t realize how far behind Professor Lockhart left us…”

Darcy doesn’t look at any of her friends, only drinks her wine. The wine is stronger than usual, a deep crimson color and very dry, and she can feel it all the way down her throat. “Well,” she says, shrugging her shoulders and allowing Gemma to refill her glass. “I mean… I’m learning the  _ theory _ —”

“We learned the  _ theory _ on the first day of class,” Emily reminds her. She helps herself to some of Darcy’s firewhisky, taking a swig from the bottle and groaning before pouring a little into her empty wine cup. “Darcy, please tell me that with all of these lessons, you’ve actually produced a Patronus?”

“I’m working on it,” Darcy hisses. Emily smiles at her, holding up the firewhisky, and Darcy smiles back, taking it from her friend and drinking deeply from the bottle. It’s liquid fire in her mouth, down her gullet, in her stomach. She cringes, drinking some wine, but it doesn’t help any. The combination of flavors only makes her want to throw up, but she thinks she’s ready now to talk to her friends about what she’d planned on talking about in the first place. “Now!” she continues, clearing her throat and tapping her cup on the ground like a gavel. Some wine splashes over the sides, but she pays it no mind. “This council is now in session, and there are several things on tonight’s agenda.” Darcy takes another drink, feeling the buzzing in her head again, and she looks around at her friends’ faces. “Who wants to go first?”

“Oh!” Gemma raises her hand quickly, reminding Darcy of Hermione. She finishes her cup of wine and beams at her friends, holding her hands in her lap and taking a deep breath. Everyone watches her expectantly. “My parents have secured me a place at St. Mungo’s for healing classes. I’m going to be a mediwitch!”

Darcy can’t remember a time when Gemma hadn’t wanted to be a mediwitch. In her first year, she’d spent Easter holidays at St. Mungo’s with her ailing grandmother, but instead of coming back mourning the loss of her family (“I won’t miss her much,” Gemma had told them all, “she was as big a pureblood fanatic as they come.”), she had raved about the mediwizards who’d been at her grandmother’s side day and night, and loved to talk about the Healers, who’d been kind to her and given her sweets. According to Gemma, her parents had always been supportive of her decision to go into magical medicine, which was something that had always privately confused Darcy, as her parents were Slytherins themselves who, rumor had it, were on the wrong side of the First Wizarding War. She would never admit it outloud, but Darcy can’t imagine parents like that being ready to put their child through more classes only to heal, however it makes Darcy happy that Gemma is happy.

Darcy, Emily, and Carla cheer and stomp their feet. Carla claps and wolf-whistles as Gemma jumps to her feet and curtsies before sitting back down. They all hold up their empty cups and Emily pours them each a shot of firewhisky. “When do the classes start?” Emily asks Gemma, filling her cup first.

“This summer,” Gemma answers, unable to stop smiling. “Right after graduation. I’ll have a week between, but —”

“No rest for the wicked, yeah?” Carla japes, and they all laugh, clinking their cups together and downing their firewhisky. “All right, I’ll go next. Guess who is now President of the Hogwarts Gobstone Club?”

Gemma cheers this time, slapping Carla playfully on the arm. “No way!” she cries. “What happened to the other President… what was his name?”

“He got caught cheating,” Carla explains, though she doesn’t seem as upset about it as she means to. “And everyone voted for me. I mean, once Abby and Brandon graduate this year, I’ll be the oldest on the team —”

“And the best,” Darcy tells her. Emily pours another round of shots for her friends. 

“I know it’s not very exciting, but I’ve been in the Gobstone club for six years now —”

“I’m going to be completely honest,” Emily interrupts. “I’m still not sure what Gobstones is.”

“You could join the club,” Carla suggests, holding up her cup. “It’s easy enough to learn.”

Emily laughs out loud. “I’ll stick to Quidditch.”

Carla’s sister, Elena, a few years older than all of them, had always been a big part of extracurricular activities; she had been one of the top singers in the choir, was an avid wizard’s chess player, and was the one to introduce Carla to the Gobstone Club, which had always been Carla’s favorite. Darcy, like Emily, isn’t quite sure what Gobstones really is, either, but Carla enjoys it, so Darcy does, as well.

They clink their cups together again, toasting to Carla. Drunker and drunker, they finish the bottle of wine easily, and slow down as the firewhisky bottle drains. Carla’s eyes are bloodshot and droopy, half-closed. Gemma keeps pushing her hair back out of her face, sweating slightly and devoid of any color, but she still smiles at them all as they continue to drink. If there’s one thing Darcy knows for certain about Gemma, it’s that she can hold her liquor better than any of them. Even Emily seems drunker than usual, but they have been drinking quickly.

“Emily, you’re up,” Gemma announces, and Emily only shrugs with a shy smile.

“I haven’t really got anything,” she admits, rubbing the back of her neck. “But Snape did give me a perfect score on my essay last week, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I think that perfect score is going to get me through the rest of the year.”

Darcy and Carla exchange a pleasantly surprised look. Gemma nods, looking surprised. “That  _ is _ impressive,” Gemma notes. At these words, the girls erupt into cheers again and drink more firewhisky. 

Finally, when it’s Darcy turn, they’re all drunker than they’d like to be. All of their eyes are heavy and Carla sways a little bit from her spot on the floor across from Darcy. Gemma leans against a desk a few inches from where she had been sitting before, and Emily’s shed a few layers, leaving her clad in her thin undershirt, her sweater and cloak in a pile next to her. Darcy takes a moment to organize her thoughts, remember what she was going to say and in what order to say it in, but her speech is still slurred when she says, “I’ve gotten two job offers,” she smiles, and all of her friends suddenly lean in towards her, listening closely. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I wanted to tell you all and I haven’t been able to —”

“What are they?” Carla asks, a sense of urgency in her tone. “Have you decided? Is it at the Ministry?”

Darcy nods. “Mr. Weasley offered me a job as his assistant — but I wouldn’t be getting paid, and it’s — well, it’s not exactly what I’d hoped for, but —”

“Mr. Weasley offered you a job at the Ministry?” Emily repeats, looking more excited than Darcy feels. “When? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“When he visited that day, in Hogsmeade,” she tells them. “I don’t know, though —” Darcy turns to Emily and grins apologetically. “You know that I’m not really interested in Mr. Weasley’s department.”

“Doesn’t matter where you start,” Emily adds. “It’s where you end up. You’d have a foot in the door straight out of Hogwarts. When does it start?”

“As soon as I graduate, I suppose,” Darcy shrugs. “Mr. Weasley is willing to take me right away.”

“You said you had two offers?” Carla says. “So what’s the second one?”

She’s a little more nervous about telling them about this job. Darcy isn’t sure how they’re going to react, but she knows that her friends will not make a fool of her. “I spoke with Professor Dumbledore and he’d like me to return here, for the next year, as an assistant to Professor Snape.”

There’s a short silence, where everyone looks at her, completely stunned. Then everyone speaks at once, astonished. 

Emily cackles. “ _ Snape _ ?”

Carla pulls her knees hurriedly to her chest. “That sounds amazing!”

Gemma seems impressed, as well. “What’s the salary?”

Darcy stutters, tripping over her own words, trying to answer everyone’s questions at once. Emily saves her from her rambling, and asks again, “Is there a reason he wants you back at Hogwarts?” She blushes. “Not that I’m saying you wouldn’t be a great assistant — or whatever you’d be — I’m just saying, why would he ask you?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy sighs, shaking her head. “That’s what’s strange about it. The way he was talking, it seemed to me like he expected something to happen. He said that he didn’t want to separate me and Harry, and —”

“So Dumbledore wants to keep an eye on you?” Gemma says slowly, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think I like that. It’s a brilliant opportunity, but you’ve spent seven years in this place, don’t you think it time to move on?”

“Well, Harry would be here, that’s true,” Darcy slurs. “And you, Carla. Hermione and Ron, Lupin —”

“Professor Lupin?” Emily hisses, and everyone looks to her. “You would take a Hogwarts job over a Ministry job because of Professor Lupin?”

“No, I —” Darcy stammers, flushing a deep red. “I just mean — I would — he thinks I should take the Ministry job anyway —”

“Hold on,” Emily continues, holding up a hand and frowning. “You told Professor Lupin about this before us?”

“It just came up in conversation — last week, I —” Darcy clears her throat, trying to get Lupin off her mind. With the alcohol starting to take hold of her brain, it’s hard to push off thoughts of him, but she tries. “It slipped out, and I meant to tell you, I just wanted to tell you all at the same time and —”

“It’s all right, Darcy,” Gemma cuts her off. “But maybe next time, you could invite Professor Lupin to drink with us and he can share his opinions on all of our achievements.” Her smile is genuine, and Darcy knows Gemma is only joking, but it shuts Emily up. Carla looks uncomfortable at the look Emily and Gemma share for a moment. “I think going into the Ministry would be great for you, Darcy. You’ve wanted this for so long.”

“You can go into the Ministry anytime,” Carla scoffs. “How many people our age can say they were an assistant teacher at Hogwarts just after graduating? The Ministry will love that, when you do decide to pursue that. Plus, that’s a whole other year I get to spend here with you — and you can boost my grade in Potions up — you’ll do that, right?”

Darcy chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll —”

Gemma jumps, and all four girls freeze. “Did you hear that?” Gemma whispers, looking towards the door.

Footsteps draw nearer as they come down the corridor and everyone scrambles. Gemma dives for the cups and near empty bottles, spilling alcohol on the floor, gathering the bottles in her arms. She stuffs the cups in her pockets and tucks the bottles in her shirt and in the front of her pants, looking ridiculous. Emily throws her sweater and cloak back on, holding onto a desk to steady herself as the footsteps grow closer. Carla lurches to her feet, turning green in the face, and Gemma grabs her hand, pulling her towards the door. Darcy picks her Invisibility Cloak up off the floor, and they all place one of their ears to the door, listening silently. 

They all hold their breath as the footsteps walk right past the door, heavy footfalls of someone tall, someone heavy, like a teacher. But thankfully, they keep walking down the corridor. By then, they all decide to leave and head back to their dormitories, not wanting to risk getting caught with so much alcohol, so intoxicated, and out of their common rooms so late at night. Gemma scurries off towards the dungeons, while Carla walks with her down a few flights of steps, and Darcy and Emily huddle together underneath the Invisibility Cloak and start the ascent to Gryffindor Tower.

Emily doesn’t say much the whole way up, but Darcy knows she’s only thinking up arguments about Professor Lupin that Darcy will likely hear tomorrow. When they do find their way to the portrait hole, Sir Cadogan scolds them before allowing them entrance. The only person in the common room so late is Harry, and he looks ecstatic. She barely registers what he says — all she knows is that the Firebolt has been returned, free of any jinxes and deemed safe enough to ride for the coming match, Ron and Hermione aren’t speaking once again, and Ron’s rat, Scabbers, may or may not be dead, but is probably dead, according to Harry. 

Darcy grunts at him in response, throwing the Invisibility Cloak at Harry and following Emily up the stairs. It’s only when Darcy settles in bed does the smell of herself overwhelm her — all she can smell is the alcohol that she’s consumed, and it makes the room spin around her. Emily buries her face in her pillow, and in seconds it seems she’s snoring, but it takes Darcy a little while to fall asleep. She has to stare at the ceiling, her eyes fixed on one unmoving point, for the room to stop spinning — or at least it spins a little slower. 

She vomits over the side of her bed violently, and then she feels good enough to go to sleep without even cleaning it up.

The next morning after breakfast, Darcy vomits more into a foul-smelling toilet. The entire day, she feels the drink, and during her free period, goes to Madam Pomfrey. The matron insists to check her shoulder, as well, and Darcy — too tired to argue or protest or feel any shame — moves her cloak and sweater aside so Madam Pomfrey can inspect the scars. She doesn’t say anything, but tuts, giving Darcy the potion she’s asked for and sending her away again.

Even at dinner that night, snug in Lupin’s apartments, Darcy holds her head in her hands, barely touching her food. Her head still pounds, and every crackle in the fire makes a sharp pain shoot through her temples. The food makes Darcy wants to vomit, so she pushes her plate away after a few minutes. Lupin talks more than normal, and despite Darcy caring very much what he has to say, all she wants to do is tell him to be quiet. Finally, she has to, or else her head is going to burst.

“I am so sorry,” she begins, sounding harsher than she’d like, “but if you say one more word, your couch is going to be covered in vomit.”

Lupin looks as if he wants to laugh, but knows he shouldn’t. “You smell like a pub.”

“I couldn’t stand long enough to shower this morning,” she groans, “and if I had taken a bath, I’m not sure I would have gotten out.”

“You can’t just tell me that.” He chuckles all the same, though. 

Darcy lowers her hand and looks at Lupin. Looking him in the eyes is still difficult, but she manages; even though Darcy knows that he can’t read her mind, she’s afraid that even the slightest flicker of shame on her face will give her away. She wonders, just for a moment, if he thinks of her at night, lying in bed. She wonders if, in his dreams, she’s the one kissing him and smiling into his skin, her red hair tickling his face as she hovers over him. Darcy wants so badly to kiss him again, to pull him by the front of shirt on top of her, to feel his body pressed against her’s —

She grows flushed again, clearing her throat and sitting up straighter. It’s one thing to think of him in the privacy of her four-poster, but thinking such things while sitting beside him seems  _ dangerous _ to her, and it excites her. His voice brings her back to her senses.

“May I speak again?” he asks with a smirk. “Or are you just going to keep staring at me?”

“I told everyone about the job offers,” Darcy says suddenly, feeling the need to change the subject as quickly as possible. “Last night, I told them.”

“And did they give you the advice you wanted?”

“No, not really,” Darcy admits. “I was hoping they’d all be in agreement, but I was wrong. Emily and Gemma think I should go into the Ministry, but Carla thinks I should do a year here.” Feeling bold, she adds, “None of them flattered me, though. I would have been much more partial to their opinion had they thrown a few compliments my way.”

Lupin nods, rubbing his face and laughing softly to himself. “Did your friends help you reach a decision? Or is it still too early to decide?”

Darcy hesitates, thinking for a moment. “Three out of four votes were for the Ministry,” she says slowly. “I trust Emily and Gemma’s judgement — and Carla’s, of course, but — I think I expected her to get excited about me staying here at Hogwarts.” Darcy inhales deeply. “Your advice was wonderful, as well — it always is.”

“I’m glad you think so. That means a lot, coming from you.”

“Does it?”

“Of course it does.” He surprises her then, by leaning in towards her. Lupin reaches out for her face and Darcy freezes as his thumb rubs at her cheek for a second. His finger is calloused and tough, but he touches her with a softness that no one has ever touched her with. He pulls away and shrugs. “Something on your face.” But his touch makes her smile, even if it had been just his thumb. 

It’s his touch that Darcy thinks of that night, when she’s the last one awake in her dormitory. Her entire body shudders when she finishes to the thought of Lupin touching her in places other than her face, touching her with gentle hands, kissing her with soft lips, and afterwards she sleeps better than she can ever remember sleeping.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg I just have to tell someone that I went to march for our lives this weekend and i saw lin-manuel miranda and i almost cried he's so beautiful

It turns out that Crookshanks either eating or not eating Scabbers is a bigger deal than Darcy could ever have imagined. Personally, she’s always hated Scabbers — not that he’s ever done anything to her, but something about the bald tail and grubby hands gives her the creeps, and she doesn’t like the way that Scabbers just looks at her sometimes, staring her down with those small, black eyes. Darcy is quite glad for Scabbers to be gone, and is quite relieved that she won’t have to see the rat ever again, and she’s surprised that Ron seems to care so much. Privately she believes that, had Crookshanks not been the one to devour him, Ron wouldn’t have been so angry. While Hermione maintains that Crookshanks hadn’t done it, Darcy had watched her lash out on Harry after presenting the evidence to her that it probably was her cat, and Darcy instead decides to remains indifferent.

The Great Hall is noisier than usual today, and Gryffindor table is especially rowdy. Darcy arrives just after the feast begins, as Emily hadn’t woken her up. She sits down between Emily and Ron looking disheveled, tired, and hungry, filling her plate with small portions of almost everything. Ron tells her excitedly how well Harry had flown on his broomstick the previous evening, and Harry confirms this, making everyone antsy and ready for the Quidditch match. The excitement of the game makes Darcy impervious to anger or irritation (Hermione had tested her limits after Ron had spoken to her, quickly reminding Darcy of what Ron said about Crookshanks, but Darcy brushed her off quite easily), and after hearing about Harry on the Firebolt, she knows there’s no way they can lose.

After breakfast, Darcy and Emily head back up to the common room to change into something warmer. With everyone else down in the Great Hall or spilling out onto the grounds to find good seating at the pitch, the common room and dormitory are empty save for them. Scabbers is nowhere to be found, but Crookshanks follows Darcy into the dormitory. The cat jumps onto Darcy’s bed as she pulls different clothes from her trunk. She eyes Crookshanks warily, lifting her shirt over her head to find the cat still staring back at her. 

“Did you eat Scabbers, Crookshanks?” Darcy asks, getting Emily’s attention. “Tell the truth. Did you eat him?”

She doesn’t know what she expects, but Crookshanks doesn’t answer. He only sits there, staring at Darcy, his thick and bushy ginger tail waving side to side slowly. Darcy hesitates before slipping her sweater on, and she reaches out to scratch the cat between the ears. Crookshanks purrs loudly, falling onto his back to open up his stomach for her. She gives his belly a few rubs before he paws at her and gets up, jumping back to the ground and leaving them in the dormitory.

“Do you often talk to cats?” Emily chuckles, turning around to face Darcy. When her shirt comes down over her face, her eyes grow wide. “Holy  _ shit  _ — Darcy!”

“What?” Darcy stares at Emily, dumbfounded.

But Emily’s eyes are drawn slightly to Darcy’s left, and her heart sinks. She hadn’t thought about them in so long — had forgotten that Emily hadn’t yet seen them without the bandages. She had been so careful to change when no one was looking, or in the dark when it was impossible to see them. Darcy’s hand flies to her shoulder and she tries to cover the long scars that mar her skin. Her face grows bright red as Emily moves towards her, reaching out to grab at the hand that covers the scars. Darcy backs into her bed nearly falling back onto it, and they struggle for a moment as Emily tries to force Darcy’s hand off her shoulder.

“Let go —”

“Just let me see —”

“Emily, I don’t want —”

“There’s no one else here —”

“Please, don’t —”

“One look —”

Emily overtakes her after Darcy tires of holding her off. She forces Darcy’s hand away, looking down at the long, pink, raised bumps on her shoulder. Her chest heaving, Darcy allows Emily a short few seconds to stare down at them before pushing her off and away. They stare at each other for a few moments, both of them breathing heavily, and Emily watches Darcy as she sweeps out of the dormitory, feeling humiliated.

Darcy doesn’t bring this up when she meets Professor Lupin near the Great Hall, heading back to his office. He seems to be in a good mood and the last thing she wants to do is spoil it. He asks her if she’d like to take a walk before the match, and Darcy agrees quickly to go, still flustered and embarrassed after having Emily best her. The look on Emily’s face was nearly unreadable, but knowing that Emily is a smart girl makes her nervous. It only takes Lupin a few minutes to grab his cloak, and they both walk out of Hogwarts, being shuffled along by the sea of students. They break free of the crowd almost at once.

The two of them walk the grounds, enjoying the fresh air, Darcy’s arm looped around his. They walk on the opposite side of the grounds, quite close together, and far away from Hagrid’s hut, around the edge of the lake. The giant squid raises a single tentacle from the depths and splashes Darcy as she nears the lake to find a flat stone to skip. Lupin laughs outloud and waves his wand, pointing it in her direction to dry her hair and long cloak. Regardless, it makes her laugh, as well, and she continues to skip stones across the lake. 

“I may ask Harry for a ride on his Firebolt,” she says, and Lupin raises an eyebrow. “He said it’s a really good broom.”

“I thought you weren’t a great flier.”

Darcy looks over her shoulder and gives him a sharp look, her cheeks turning pink. “I want to know who told you that,” she snaps shrilly, but Lupin doesn’t answer and only shrugs, giving her a smile. “Anyway — I didn’t mean by myself. I’d ask Harry to fly it with me on it.”

“Of course,” Lupin says. 

She turns around to face him, and they smile at each other for a brief moment. With the sun shining down on him, she has to take a moment to compose herself, looking at him clearly, drinking in his appearance. Even underneath a thick cloak, she knows that he’s put on some weight since coming to Hogwarts — she remembers on the train how he’d seemed slightly malnourished, weak, and frail. Now, he looks healthy and well fed, and his face has more color in it, more life. Even underneath his outerwear, Darcy knows his shoulders and chest are much broader than they had been, more muscular in the arms and neck. Her eyes sweep over his body, and she wishes he’d shed his cloak so she could have a better look. Lupin continues to smile at her while she stares, looking him up and down.

“Something on your mind?” he asks, too innocently, through his toothy grin. 

_ You, _ she thinks,  _ always you. _ But Darcy shakes her head and turns back around, bending down to pick up a few more stones from the shallows of the lake. She glances over her shoulder one last time to look at Lupin, and both of them blush furiously again as she catches Lupin’s eyes wandering. He looks away quickly, clearing his throat.

They keep walking around the lake, Darcy’s right arm wrapped around his bicep, and her left hand resting on his forearm. They’re quiet, listening to the sounds of the birds chirping, signaling springtime finally coming, and the gentle splashing of the giant squid in the lake. She looks up at his face, but Lupin’s eyes are fixed right ahead, and as they reach a patch of ground far from the castle, Darcy rests her cheek against his shoulder, barely able to reach it. She half expects him to flinch away, but Lupin doesn’t do anything to move her off of him. 

“We should go back,” Lupin suggests. “The match should be starting soon. I don’t want to make you miss an opportunity to watch Harry play.”

He shrugs her off his arm as he starts off back towards the pitch, and Darcy hangs behind for a moment, watching him go. Her disappointment is likely etched over her face, because Lupin gives her a kind smile, coming back for her and putting a hand on the small of her back to keep her moving. As they round the side of the castle and come into view of the Whomping Willow and Hagrid’s hut, Lupin lowers his hand back to his side, putting some distance between them. As the reach the pitch, Darcy is privately very glad that he decides to follow her up into the stands, and the two of them find Emily sitting between Hermione and Ron. Emily’s looking down at the field through Hermione’s binoculars. 

Hermione jumps to her feet at the sight of Darcy and Professor Lupin, and she tangles herself around Darcy’s arm, catching her off guard and she stumbles slightly getting into her seat. “I’m so glad you’re here, Darcy —! Hello, Professor Lupin!”

Professor Lupin gives Hermione an acknowledging nod and a small smile, taking a seat beside Darcy. 

“You all right, Hermione?” Darcy asks, taking a good look at her friend’s face. Hermione looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes and Darcy’s worried that if she closes her eyes, she’ll pass out. “You look… er — tired.”

“I am,” Hermione replies, not bothering to elaborate, but still clinging tightly to Darcy’s arm. 

“Where’s the rest of your entourage?” Lupin asks Darcy and Emily.

Emily answers, still looking through the binoculars. “Gemma wouldn’t be caught dead cheering for Gryffindor, and Carla will cheer for whatever team Gemma tells her to cheer for.”

“It keeps things interesting between us,” Darcy mutters in his ear. “Let me see those, Emily.”

Emily passes the binoculars over Hermione, and Darcy shakes her off her arm, looking through them. As the Gryffindor team appears on the field far below them, every Gryffindor in their seats gets to their feet, roaring. The match hasn’t even started, but Darcy feels as if they’ve already won, and her heart soars at the thought of watching Harry on the Firebolt. A wide grin is plastered to Harry’s face as he surveys the crowd. When Madam Hooch’s whistle blows, the team launches into the air, and Darcy hands the binoculars to Lupin.

Harry outflies nearly everyone on the Gryffindor team and the Ravenclaw team, and he soars over Darcy once, beaming down at her. The Gryffindor Chasers score goal after goal after goal, and Harry dodges Bludgers, dodges opposing players, and Lee Jordan is screaming with glee, but his commentary is barely heard over the whooping and shouting of the Gryffindor supporters. The binoculars are passed back and forth between the five of them, and while Lupin isn’t quite as excited as the rest of them are, he can’t help but to clap and cheer when another ten points are scored.

Diving a few more times, circling the goalposts, and zipping back and forth across the field, Darcy keeps her eyes trained on Harry, who moves too quickly to be recognizable. “Look at him fly!” Ron shouts, his eyes wide, as he looks across Emily at Darcy, pointing up at her brother. “Look at the Firebolt  _ go _ !”

Darcy barely hears him, but smiles all the same. And then, she sees it — a small, golden ball with wings flutters by her face, towards the opposite side of the field. As Darcy watches her brother follow it, her eyes are drawn to something at the bottom of the field, and she suddenly feels dizzy — three dementors are there, looking up at Harry — she tugs on Lupin’s sleeve and points — “Professor Lupin! Look! Down there!” But as she looks closer, she realizes that the dementors don’t seem to be affecting her, or anyone, for no one seems to notice them.

Lupin does a double-take, looking for a long time at the three figures at the ground. Then he growls, “For the love of —” Lupin runs a hand through his hair, and he turns to Darcy. “Those aren’t dementors —”

Emily seems to have spotted them, as well, and when Lupin puts a hand on Darcy’s shoulder to lead her down to the field, she grabs Emily’s hand — but they don’t get far. Out of the corner of Darcy’s eye, she sees something silvery-white shoot from Harry’s wand at the dementors on the ground and within seconds, he holds up his hand, the Snitch’s wings fluttering feebly as his fingers grasp it. While the capture of the Snitch excites everyone around her, Harry’s Patronus is what catches her eye, and she and Lupin exchange a quick look before continuing down the stairs of the high seats very quickly. Emily trails behind them, still clutching Darcy’s hand — Emily’s palm is sweaty and slippery against Darcy’s, and as the Gryffindor students start to rush to the field, she nearly loses Emily because of it, but she only holds Emily’s hand tighter with her left hand, clutching Lupin’s cloak with her right.

When the three of them reach Harry, Harry runs full force at his sister. Darcy wraps him in a tight hug, and Emily joins them, jumping up and down in celebration. With the three of them still tangled up in each other, Lupin leans forward so Harry can hear him, and Darcy feels his hand touch her elbow, making her smile even wider. 

“That was quite some Patronus,” Lupin says with a exasperated sigh, looking immensely proud.

Darcy lets go of her brother, taking a few steps back to stand beside Emily. Harry and Lupin talk for a moment, and he motions for them all to follow him to the outside of the pitch, where the dementors — ‘dementors’ — are sitting. But they aren’t dementors at all, Lupin had the right of it. In fact, upon seeing them, Darcy and Emily cackle from behind Harry and Lupin. With their hoods down, Darcy recognizes Draco Malfoy and his two cronies, their eyes nearly bulging from their skulls after the encounter with Harry’s Patronus. 

With Emily still at her side, her sweaty hand holding tight to Darcy’s again, Harry turns around incredulously, still reeling from the incredible catch and the incredible discovery of who had been hiding underneath the hoods. He looks at his sister with the biggest smile she’s seen him wear in months, and his joy becomes Darcy’s joy, and his exuberance at not only winning the Quidditch match, but humiliating Malfoy in front of the entire school makes Darcy smile bigger than she has in a very long time.

* * *

Emily and Ron leave Darcy and Harry behind to talk excitedly of the Firebolt and it’s superiority to all of the other school brooms and Nimbuses the others had been riding. Darcy can hardly speak from the excitement, but Harry understands exactly what she’s trying to say, and they have a short conversation with nothing except exaggerated expressions and hand gestures. As the other Gryffindor Quidditch team members begin to circle him, Darcy takes a step back to let him enjoy it all, to let it really sink in, and they nearly carry him off the pitch and up towards the school. A few other students linger until teachers begin to usher them away, and Darcy moves with them, jumping when she realizes Professor Lupin hasn’t left her side.

He clears his throat, and Darcy waits patiently for him to speak. He nods towards the castle and they walk more slowly, speaking in low voices. “You probably don’t want to miss the celebrations,” he begins, seeming quite awkward, “but if you were interested in escaping the fervor for a little while, I may be able to scrounge up some butterbeers for the both of us —”

“Yes,” Darcy says breathlessly, unable to stop smiling. Lupin just looks at her with his eyebrows furrowed for a moment, slightly taken aback by her quick answer. “I’d love that, actually.”

“Really?” he asks, and Darcy nods. 

She follows him back to his office and into his apartments. Darcy takes a seat on the sofa while he digs around for some drinks in the tiny kitchenette offered to him. On the coffee table in front of her is a large pile of clothes — two pairs of trousers, a patched jacket, a few shirts. Beside them, a sewing kit with an old, half-rusting needle and some mismatched thread that doesn’t match at all the color of the fabric of his clothes. She suddenly feels a pang of guilt, feeling quite sorry for Professor Lupin. As he returns to her, he apologizes profusely for the mess and hurries to clean up after himself, but Darcy stops him by putting a hand on his arm. 

“I could fix them for you,” she says gently, and Lupin’s cheeks flush a deep red that she’s never seen on him before. Darcy’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t mean — it’s just — I mean — I didn’t know that you could sew —”

“I’m a wizard,” he replies, hesitating, his hands hovering over the pile of clothes. “I don’t actually know how to sew, but — magic only goes so far, and if truth be told, household spells have never been my forte —”

Darcy gives him an encouraging smile. “I used to sew Harry’s clothes when he was younger,” she explains. “Not with magic, but — you know — the normal way. I’m pretty good at it.”

Lupin shakes his head, gathering his clothes in his arms and moving towards the small, back room. “I couldn’t ask you to do that, Darcy,” he says. 

“But you wouldn’t be asking,” Darcy answers, shrugging her shoulders. “Professor, you’ve done so much for me. Let me do something for you. I promise, I won’t make you look like a fool. I could ask Aunt Petunia if she’d be willing to send my sewing kit.”

But Lupin doesn’t seem convinced as he returns from the back room and places a bottle of butterbeer in front of her. Seating himself on the sofa, he doesn’t answer her, opening his bottle in silence and barely taking a sip. He won’t look at her either, and Lupin’s eyes are fixed on the hearth where, for once, there’s no fire burning. All that’s left are the ashes of old logs, small pieces of parchment that haven’t burned completely. Darcy sighs, watching his jaw clench and unclench, watching his lips turn into a frown.

“What were you doing before you came back to Hogwarts?” Darcy asks, unsure if she’s gone too far with her question. She decides not to fill the silence.  _ If he doesn’t want to answer, I shouldn’t force him to.  _

Lupin glances at her only for a second before turning away again. She isn’t sure if he’s ever going to answer her, but after a long and uncomfortable silence, he does. Darcy isn’t sure if it’s the flickering lights in the sconces playing tricks on her eyes, but she thinks she sees anger flash across his face for a heartbeat. “I don’t want your pity,” he snaps, harsher than expected. 

Darcy remembers one of their first real conversations, when she’d said almost the same thing. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, wrapping her cloak tighter around her still. She suddenly grows very warm and has every desire to take it off, but she thinks better of it. “I didn’t mean to — I only wanted to help. I’m sorry.”

Lupin runs his hands through his hair, exhaling loudly. “Your friends are probably waiting for you.”

“Professor,” she scoffs, shaking her head slightly. “You are my friend.”

She moves to get up, leaving her unopened butterbeer on the table. Surprisingly, Lupin stands with her; Darcy leads the way back to his door and he follows her, a few paces behind. Before she opens the door, she turns to Lupin and hesitates, wanting to say  _ something _ , but not knowing what could possibly make him feel better. The Quidditch match has lifted her spirits, yet she can’t think of a single word of comfort, so Darcy touches his chest and looks up at him, waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to move her hand from his chest. He doesn’t, so she stands on her tiptoes, her heart pounding as she presses her lips to his cheek softly. Darcy pauses as she pulls away from him, almost leaning back in to kiss his lips, but thinking better of it. Still, he doesn’t speak, and Darcy leaves him in his apartments without another word.

The Gryffindor common room is packed with students, talking loudly and making toasts and reliving the best moments of the Quidditch game. Fred and George Weasley appear as soon as she takes three steps through the portrait hole, offering her a bottle of butterbeer and some Chocolate Frogs. Darcy smiles at them in thanks, stuffing a few of the Chocolate Frogs into her pockets for later. She soon get sucked into the excitement again, talking to everyone she passes, all of their eyes alight. She’s soon being passed cups of firewhisky, taking shots with the Gryffindor team (while Harry’s back is turned, of course), and Darcy finally finds her way to the sofa, sitting down and yelping when she sees Hermione hidden in the dark corner, pouring over a large textbook. It’s only then does Darcy wonder what Hermione had done after the match — she had disappeared when Harry caught the Snitch, and hadn’t come to congratulate Harry.

“Take a break, Hermione,” Darcy urges, leaning back on the sofa and closing her eyes. She folds her hands over her arms, getting comfortable. “You deserve it.”

“I can’t,” Hermione hisses, making Darcy open one of her eyes to give Hermione an accusatory stare. At the sight of Darcy, her face softens. 

“Can I help with anything?”

“Not unless you’re able to read these last four hundred pages for me.” 

Darcy gives her an apologetic smile and turns in her seat to find Harry in the crowd of Gryffindors. His wide smile still hasn’t left his face, and Darcy knows as long as Harry’s smiling, nothing will be able to ruin her good mood. Halfway through the celebrations, still resting on the sofa, Darcy almost decides to steal the Invisibility Cloak from Harry’s dormitory, wanting nothing more than to sneak away from the festivities and down to Lupin’s office. She wants him to know that she hadn’t meant to embarrass him or shame him, and that all she had wanted was to help him with something. She hopes he knows that, or it’ll continue to eat at her. As the night wears on, she begins to seriously consider it — just going down for a quick visit, just a few minutes. She could kiss him again — a real kiss this time, just to remind herself what it feels like to be kissed with such ferocity, a hunger that no one has ever kissed her with — but she knows that’s just the alcohol talking, and the other part of her that speaks with Emily’s voice knows that sneaking off just to kiss Professor Lupin is likely one of her stupider ideas. Plus, she’s been drinking, and Lupin would smell the alcohol on her breath quicker than anything, especially with her mouth so close.

Eventually, Emily suggests they open Darcy’s bottle of wine that Gemma had gotten her for Christmas. Darcy can’t say no to that, so they make their way up the spiral staircase to their empty dormitory, and Darcy opens the bottle with a loud  _ POP! _ Lacking glasses, Darcy and Emily take turns taking large swigs from the bottle in silence, wiping their lips on the back of their hands after each sip, occasionally giggling at an old joke. With each drink, the urge to go back to Lupin’s office grows stronger, until Darcy itches to feel his lips on her flesh, until the idea of kissing him is too much for her to handle. Briefly, she remembers that Oliver Wood is downstairs in the common room, likely drunk, and ready if Darcy were to throw herself at him, but she also know she’d probably have a horrible time with Oliver and tomorrow morning, she knows she’d feel nothing but disgust. And Darcy feels even more disgusted with herself for even considering sleeping with Oliver Wood only because Lupin is off limits.

_ But is he? _ she wonders. Thinking hard, Darcy wonders how far she could take it, how far she could go before Lupin asks her to stop. It’s not a very clean though, she has to admit, but even after their conversation about Dumbledore and Lupin’s ‘momentary lapse of judgement’, it seems to her like nothing has changed. If anything, Lupin has been showing her more affection lately than ever, she thinks, with small touches and weak smiles, paired with a sense of intimacy and comfort that hadn’t been so strongly present beforehand. The way that Lupin touches her — guiding her along with a steady hand on the small of her back, or brushing his fingertips against her skin, or touching her shoulders and giving them a reassuring squeeze — is different now than it had been. He touches her as if he has every right to touch her, as if her body is his to touch. She’s never stopped him, never flinched at his touch or shrugged him off. She’s always relished his touches, and Darcy can’t help but to feel excited at the thought that Lupin feels comfortable enough to touch her so gently without having to worry about her brushing him off.

She thinks again of Oliver Wood and how he had touched her so many times before. He had always been so entitled, in a way that had said her body was his. But she’d never wanted to be Oliver’s — not then, not now, and not ever. His touches had always been greedy, self-serving. His touches were fingers wrapped around her throat, thumbs digging into her hips a little too hard, a hand sliding up her thigh to the V between her legs — touches that she’d never relished, never looked forward to. But Darcy can’t blame him entirely, of course — she’d always been too polite to tell Oliver where to put his hands, how to kiss her, how to touch her, how to fuck her. But Darcy feels that, with Lupin, she’d be comfortable enough to tell him exactly how to touch her, and she feels that Lupin would listen and do it without her having to ask again.

Darcy shivers as she takes another sip of wine. How could she think that? She frowns, feeling ashamed for thinking such thoughts about a teacher. But Lupin is so much more than her teacher, and they both know it. He is her friend, one of her dear friends, someone she enjoys spending time with, someone that she wants at her side always. Darcy knows Emily would go ballistic if she knew how she really feels about Lupin, but Darcy needs to tell someone, needs to discuss her troubling feelings with someone who will listen and understand and tell her exactly what she wants to hear. She doesn’t want the truth anymore, she wants someone who will push for her to go further, who will encourage her to kiss him when need be, someone who will be on her side despite everything. And the fact that Darcy can’t think of a single person who would be on her side in this speaks volumes about the situation.

With Emily at her side, however, Darcy knows it’s no use trying to escape, so she stops thinking about it. It’s probably for the best, she knows, and she isn’t quite sure she’s ready to push any boundaries. Darcy tries to tell herself it’s all just the alcohol, but even sober, Lupin still invades the privacy of her dreams, kissing her all over until her core throbs each time his lips touch her skin.

When, finally, they retire to bed, it’s only because Professor McGonagall yells at the whole of her House. Darcy and Emily listen from their dormitory door, quickly hiding the empty bottle of wine just in case McGonagall decides to do a dormitory check. They change into pajamas before anyone can join them and dive into bed, pulling their blankets up, and smiling drunkenly at each other before closing their eyes.

Darcy wakes every so often, unable to recall her dreams each time her eyes open a sliver in the darkness. The mixture of wine, butterbeer, and firewhisky makes her sick to her stomach, but she tries to just close her eyes and ignore the spinning sensation.

The fourth time Darcy wakes, she doesn’t even both to open her eyes, even when she hears the dormitory door opens a crack. Something with fur nuzzles against her hand that dangles off the bed. Groaning, Darcy mumbles into her pillow, “Get up in bed or get out, Crookshanks.” And, slightly disappointed that Crookshanks doesn’t jump up in bed with her, she hears the sound of the dormitory door close. But something about the encounter with Hermione’s cat makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. For one thing, Crookshanks’s face had seemed too big as he rubbed against her hand. He seemed to have stood much too tall, and Darcy doesn’t think she’d heard any purring — Crookshanks always purrs when she pets him. Attributing her sudden fear to the alcohol and terrible night’s sleep, Darcy falls back asleep quickly enough.

The fifth time she wakes, it’s because someone is screaming from somewhere down below. The screaming sobers her up almost instantly, and she leaps from her bed, stumbling around while looking for her slippers. Darcy races for the door, Emily getting dressed with surprising speed and following her. What’s worse than being woken by a scream, however, is being woken by a familiar scream. She barrels down the stairs, sweating, with Emily on her heels.

Sure enough, Ron Weasley is already in the common room, accompanied by Harry. People begin to filter down the steps, not in as much of a hurry as Darcy is. She touches Ron’s shoulders and realizes he’s trembling violently. His face is a shock of pasty white with no color left, and his eyes are wide, round as saucers. “What happened?” she demands of him, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. “Why are you screaming?”

Ron’s chest is heaving, and he pants, “Sirius Black — in my room — above me — a knife — he tried to — kill me —”

And just like that, with those simple words, Darcy’s heart falls into her stomach and she lets go of Ron’s shoulders, taking a step back from him and shaking her head. For a moment, she doesn’t know what to think, how to feel — scared, of course, and the sight of Ron makes her more frightened. She can feel Emily’s hands clamp on her upper arms, keeping Darcy calm for the time being. Up on the stairs, hiding behind a few fifth years, Darcy sees Hermione and suddenly remembers something. “Where’s Crookshanks?” she asks Hermione.

Hermione looks at her, bewildered, but answers all the same. “He’s in my bed,” she replies slowly. “He’s been there all night — but why?”

Emily whispers in Darcy’s ear. “We have to go get McGonagall.”

But McGonagall is already there, and good thing, too — Darcy can’t move, frozen with fear.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i honestly did not expect this story to be so long

Security is tightened once again.

While Darcy is quite glad to be rid of Sir Cadogan, she can’t say she’s thrilled about the trolls they decide to station by the Fat Lady’s repaired painting. Though Darcy escapes having to be escorted from place to place like the last time Sirius Black broke in, she notices teachers watching her carefully, and wonders if they’re doing the same thing to Harry, as well. All of these watchful eyes only make her more anxious, and even Madam Pomfrey decides to walk the corridors more often now, always running into Darcy as she rounds a corner or suddenly appearing outside of her classrooms when the bell signals the end of classes. The matron always looks at her with tight lips and watery eyes.

She had been afraid at first, of course — Ron had recounted the complete story more times that she wanted to hear it by now, and it only makes things worse for Darcy. Sitting awake in the common room that night had been torture, especially when Professor McGonagall had come back to tell them all Sirius Black had, yet again, escaped. Darcy, Emily, and Oliver had sat together on the sofa in silence. It was only then that Darcy had remembered the map Harry had shown her, and she wishes she hadn’t been so foolish as to forget it at all. They could have used it to catch Sirius Black and Darcy wouldn’t have to worry about another break-in again. Darcy imagines herself coming face to face with Sirius Black again after all these years, wondering what she would feel, wondering what Sirius would feel when forced to stare into her eyes, knowing what he’s done. But she feels childish thinking that — if the dementors don’t affect him as others claim, then looking upon her would make him feel nothing.

Privately, Darcy begins to miss her dreams of Lupin. To Emily’s face, Darcy claims that her dreams are full of Sirius Black stabbing Ron, stabbing Harry, stabbing  _ her _ , but she’s lying. To some, they may not even be nightmares, but to Darcy, they’re worse. The dreams of Sirius Black shame her, to know that she still feels a small amount of love for this murderer is something she’ll never admit to anyone after this, and she hates even admitting it to herself. Darcy tries to convince herself that she doesn’t love him, that she loves the idea of someone else loving her the way Sirius had, but what does she know? Hagrid had been right — she had only been four-years-old, afraid and traumatized, and she’s only remembering how it felt to be so close to someone so familiar after everything. Her dreams make her angry — Hagrid being right makes her angry, but one thing makes her more angry than anything.

She wants to scream  _ I told you so! _ to every person who’d promised her with confidence that Dumbledore would  _ never _ allow Sirius Black to break in again, that Dumbledore would  _ make sure _ Sirius Black was found. And yet, Sirius Black had gotten further this time than he had on Halloween — he had been about to kill Harry’s best friend, and then possibly kill Harry himself. And then what? Would he have come into Darcy’s dormitory to kill her and her best friend, as well? Darcy doesn’t get the chance to say  _ I told you so! _ however, feeling it best to let it go unsaid. Emily, Professor Lupin, and Gemma seem quite subdued around her in the following days, as if they know exactly what Darcy is trying to say to them when she shoots daggers at them. The most she receives from them up until Wednesday are apologetic glances, worried expressions, and forced smiles. Carla, however, happily tells Darcy that she had chastised Gemma for what she’d said previously, and scolded Emily for instilling such false hope, and Darcy finds herself throwing her arms around Carla, nearly choking her. As fearful as Carla is, Darcy can’t help but to be thankful for her empathetic nature.

On Wednesday, during lunch, Darcy has to listen to Ron retell his version of events — with a little more embellishment, she notices — and she sits in silence as people from all Houses lean in over her to listen. Darcy doesn’t even hear her name being called in the Great Hall, and when a large, oversized hand grabs the back of her robes to help her to her feet, Darcy almost trips over the bench, but Hagrid’s body breaks her fall and catches her. Students around them break apart, making room for Hagrid, and he leads Darcy from the Great Hall, leaving her half-finished lunch still at the table. Darcy frowns after it, but follows Hagrid all the same.

She expects he’ll take her down to his hut, but instead they linger in the entrance hall as a few late students stagger in the Great Hall for lunch. Hagrid waits until they’re alone, and Darcy notices his black eyes are shiny, and she can’t see for sure underneath all of his scraggly facial hair, but she thinks his cheeks may be wet. Darcy sighs. “Hagrid —”

“I’m sorry!” he cries, pulling her to him and crushing her in his arms. Hagrid only hugs her for a few seconds before dropping her, and Darcy blinks a few times, balancing herself. “I’m sorry, Darcy — I know yeh must be so scared!”

Bewildered, Darcy takes a step back from Hagrid. She’s almost forgotten how angry she’d been at the end of their last conversation. Overwhelmed with guilt, she reaches out to pat one of his arms. “I’m fine,” she says, frowning. “Hagrid, truly —”

“Darcy, yeh have to realize I was only tryin’ to look out fer yeh,” he continues, a bit softer. “I only wanted what was best for yeh, back when yeh were jus’ a little girl and even now. I’m sorry I never told yeh ‘bout Sirius Black, but don’t yeh see why I didn’t tell yeh? And I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when yeh needed me, but if I knew that these things were happenin’ I would’ve —”

“Hagrid, I know, and I’m —”

“Yeh did me an’ Beaky a good thing by lookin’ up all those dates, and what with Hermione’s got, we might even have a decent case —”

“I’m glad, but —”

Hagrid hugs her again and Darcy falls into his warm overcoat, her rage subsiding with every passing second. Darcy hugs him back and the two of them finally pull apart, wiping away tears. 

“I’m sorry for what I said, Hagrid,” she offers, sniffling. “I should never have said those things to you.”

“You were angry,” Hagrid replies, slightly more understanding about it all than Darcy could have hoped. “I know that it was a lot of information to take in, but yeh — yeh took it better than I ever would have thought.”

On Thursday morning, Professor McGonagall approaches the Gryffindor table, hoping for a private word with Darcy. Finishing her coffee, she stands and follows McGonagall from the Great Hall, her stomach still begging for more toast. Her stomach starts to churn as she thinks about all the possible things she could have done to get herself in trouble, and suddenly she doesn’t have much of an appetite anymore. They stand in the entrance hall, just as Darcy and Hagrid had, and Darcy leans against the wall, but stands up straight after McGonagall looks her up and down. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Potter.”

“Oh? Should I be nervous, Professor?” Darcy asks, only half-joking. Her anxiety intensifies and she crosses her arms across her chest, waiting with bated breath. 

Professor McGonagall doesn’t answer her question, but plows on instead. “I know that it is a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, but given recent circumstances…”

Darcy groans, slumping her shoulders, earning her a sharp look from McGonagall. “C’mon!” she mutters, running her hands through her hair. “Please, Professor —”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Professor McGonagall snaps. “I am not telling you that you may not go — your aunt has signed your permission form, understanding there are risks — though, how much of that permission form your aunt actually read and comprehended… Potter, I can’t, in good conscience, let you go alone. If you would like to visit the village this weekend, I ask only that a teacher accompany you.”

Darcy sighs, looking to McGonagall with wide, pleading eyes. However, McGonagall is immune to her charm. “But Professor, I was going to go with my friends —”

“And your friends are still allowed to go, Potter,” McGonagall shrugs, as if her request is entirely reasonable. “But a teacher will accompany you, and if you’d prefer to continue arguing about it, I will appoint a teacher for you and I will warn you — you will not like my appointment.” As Darcy opens her mouth to argue again, McGonagall adds, “Or you could stay at the castle with your brother.” The older witch sees Darcy’s frustration written across her face and frowns, exhaling loudly through her nostrils. “I’m sure Hagrid would go with you if you asked him, or Professor Lupin.”

She considers this for a moment, but McGonagall says no more on the subject and instead pats Darcy on the shoulder. 

“Go finish your breakfast, Potter.” But as Darcy turns back towards the Great Hall, she hears McGonagall shout after her, “And let me know who you will be taking with you because I  _ will _ check in!”

Darcy is too embarrassed to bring this up to her friends. McGonagall is being ridiculous, forcing her to be in the company of a teacher, as if Sirius Black were to appear and try to kill her, she and her four friends couldn’t disarm or stun or kill him themselves.  _ Kill him _ ? she thinks to herself, reminding herself to take it down a few notches.  _ It’s either kill or be killed, isn’t it _ ? Regardless, it’s not something that makes Darcy happy, and she’s still thinking about the entire situation when she arrives at the empty classroom with Harry that night at eight o’clock sharp for another Patronus lesson.

Today, Darcy doesn’t bring any homework or notes to study; she instead sits on the old teacher’s desk, swinging her legs over the side and watching Harry battle the boggart-dementor. After weeks of staring the boggart-dementor in the face and steadily filling herself with chocolate, it makes the entire thing easier. Harry, on the other hand, still struggles with the effects, but is able to produce a better Patronus after what he’d done at the Quidditch match. Lupin earns himself a dangerous look from her after he and Harry talk about the small, barely there Patronus she’d attempted to conjure her first day back to Hogwarts. Her look wipes the smile off Lupin’s face quickly, but Harry continues to chuckle. 

Darcy spends her time watching Lupin, watching the way he interacts with Harry, watching the way he interacts with the boggart, and watching the way he glances over his shoulder every so often at Darcy. When he does let the boggart loose from the ancient trunk, Lupin leans against the desk, right next to Darcy, and Darcy can’t seem to take her eyes off him. All she wants to do is wrap her arms around his neck, hold him to her as he teaches Harry the finer points of casting a Patronus. For a brief moment, she wonders what would happen if she were to try casting one tonight, her happy memory being Lupin kissing her in the threshold of his apartments door. But after thinking on it for a moment, she decides it’s probably not happy enough — her feelings at the time had been so confused, and she’d been so flustered and dizzy and she’d felt quite drunk afterwards. But maybe — maybe it could work…

As Harry prepares himself for another encounter with the boggart, Darcy leans in closer to Professor Lupin, talking low so Harry can’t hear her. “I’d like to try tonight,” she whispers, suddenly regretting it. 

Lupin looks at her, surprised to see her face so close to his. Darcy glances past him at Harry, finishing his chocolate and wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. Out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees Lupin’s eyes flick to her lips and back. “As you wish,” he replies distractedly. Lupin checks his watch, smiling weakly at her and then walking back over to Harry and the trunk. 

At five minutes past nine that night, with Harry heading back to the common room, Darcy readies herself, staring at the empty classroom before her with her hand held tightly in her hand. Lupin waits patiently, standing a little off to the side, looking at her intensely. Darcy cycles through every happy memory she can muster, even the ones that had brought her little joy — but a little joy is still joy, and she knows that they’re all worth a shot. She tries to keep Sirius Black in the back of her mind, not wanting to think at all about the happiness he’d brought her so many years ago, not after the recent events. “I’ve got one,” she announces, and Lupin only nods, rubbing his beard, taking a single step backwards as Darcy holds out her wand.

She remembers the first time she’d stayed at Emily’s house. She remembers Emily letting Darcy go through her closet, choosing any clothes that she liked. She remembers Emily’s father letting them watch an adult movie on the television the first night she’d arrived. Emily’s mother had brought them home some food and they ate out of styrofoam boxes with plastic utensils. Emily had convinced Darcy to take a few sips from a box of her mother’s wine before they went to bed, and Darcy remembers how she and Emily had shared the large bed, cuddled up next to each other all night. She remembers how warm she had been under all the blankets, how comfortable she’d been in real pajamas, how loved she’d felt by Emily’s parents. 

Darcy swallows the lump in her throat and clears her throat, “ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ” Something does come from the tip of her wand, something similar to what had happened on her first day of her last year. It angers Darcy that the memory wasn’t enough, and she flushes a deep scarlet color, unable to look at Lupin. “Hang on, I have a better one —”

She thinks hard and a memory comes to the forefront of her mind. The memory of Harry being Sorted into Gryffindor, walking over to her table with pride in his eyes, happy at the prospect of being in the same House as his sister. Her heart had soared as Harry had seated himself beside her, and she had clapped and cheered with the rest of Gryffindor House. Darcy holds her wand steady again, bracing herself, and she cries, “ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ” But nothing more comes from her wand than before. She lowers her wand, turning towards Lupin, who suddenly looks as if he’s been caught with his pants down.

“It’s good,” he says, nodding. “You’re doing fine.”

“I’m doing terrible.” Darcy grabs a handful of hair and nearly tears it out of her scalp. “Harry’s thirteen, and he’s better than me.”

“He’s been practicing for weeks,” Lupin answers. “For someone who has only tried once before — months ago — you’re doing well.”

“Let me try again,” she pleads, trying to think of a happier memory, a happier thought. “I can do it.”

“If you want to try, I won’t stop you.”

Darcy turns away from him again, facing the empty classroom. She licks her lips, thinking of the time she’s spent with Lupin these past few months. She thinks of Lupin reading her poetry, her feet tucked underneath him, the fire crackling merrily; kissing him for the first time, only to be surprised when he had stopped her and kissed her harder, deeper than she could have ever possibly imagined; the dinner consisting of her favorite foods, the music playing softly in the background and the mead he’d kept pouring into her glass. Darcy recalls her pounding heart when she’d felt his lips on her’s, recalls the comfort he’d offered during times of need, and with a clammy hand she raises her wand yet again, flicking her wrist and shouting, “ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ” And yet again, vapor trails from the tip of her wand, nothing strong enough to defend herself against a dementor. “No, no — I can do better —”

Lupin only nods again. 

Darcy hesitates before settling on a memory this time. Avoiding eye contact with Lupin sheepishly, she closes her eyes and lets the memory wash over her. Awake, she can’t feel the pain like she can in her dreams — awake, she doesn’t feel the crushing weight of debris on her legs, doesn’t feel the shooting pain up her back as it weighs on her. But she knows the feeling of the hands that pull her, and she’s overwhelmed with love when she sees Sirius Black in her mind’s eye, handsome and frightened and relieved at the sight of her alive. His face brings her joy, brings her more happiness than Sirius Black has any right to — to imagine a life with him, in a home where she would never have to be hungry — a home where she’d always feel welcomed — eyes still closed, Darcy holds her wand out, calmer this time. “ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ” 

She hears Lupin’s small, incredulous laugh from beside her, and Darcy opens her eyes to see blue-white light spilling from her wand, looking like a formless ghost. It dances in front of her, not a corporeal Patronus, but something — something more than she’d produced the past few times and on her first day back to school — something that  _ could _ defend herself from a dementor. But the serenity of the memory wears off quickly at the sight of her spell, and disgust and anger creep into her veins at the thought that the memory of Sirius Black could produce a half-decent Patronus when memories of her friends, of her brother, of Lupin, could not. 

Without thinking, completely forgetting that she is not alone, Darcy snaps her wrist, throwing hexes at the empty jars in one corner of the classroom.  _ I could have had a family. _ A desk rises in the air and slams against the wall.  _ I could have been loved _ . Some chairs fly back towards the broken desk.  _ The only person that I had left who loved me  _ — the thick blackboard cracks as she hurls a flash of red light at it —  _ a murderer  _ — another hex makes the stone wall crumble where the spell hits it —  _ a traitor. _ She screams with each hex, destroying the desk she’d been sitting on earlier, red in the face and tears welling in her eyes. And as she winds up to cast another spell at another bare span of wall, a hand gently grasps her shoulder and Darcy falters. She looks around at the classroom, feeling very hot, and she drops her wand at her feet. 

“Darcy,” Lupin breathes in her ear. He bends down to pick up her wand and he holds it out for her to take. Darcy looks up at him apologetically. “Maybe we should call it a night.”

“Thank you.” She takes her wand back, slipping it in her back pocket. “I’m so sorry, Professor, I —”

Lupin shakes his head, and she trails off. “It’s all right,” he smiles. After a few minutes of silence, Lupin’s smile fades. He looks at Darcy for a long time, reaching his hand up once as if to touch her face, but thinking better of it at the last minute. “How have you been?” Lupin’s cheeks turn suddenly pink, as if he realizes it’s the wrong question. “No, I meant — I was worried, with everything that’s happened —”

Darcy wipes at her tears angrily. She finally feels comfortable enough to ask the question that’s been bothering her all week, since that night, and plunges into it. “Why did he run?” she sighs. “He was so close to Harry — and he didn’t do anything.”

Lupin shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know.”

Her lips tighten. “You told me he wouldn’t be able to get into Hogwarts again,” she whispers, adjusting the front of his robes without thinking. Darcy straightens them, brushing off some dirt, and then pulls her hands away quickly, apologizing under her breath. “You promised me I was safe, and he almost killed my brother and his best friend.”

“I’m sorry,” Lupin replies, looking guilty. He looks down at his feet and runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “I am sorry, Darcy.”

“Did he ever love me?” she asks, rubbing at her eyes again. Darcy takes care to choose her words carefully. “I love him  _ so _ much in my dreams, and I need to know that it was real.” 

“Darcy,” Lupin starts, breathing in deeply and pausing, “whatever Sirius Black was before — he’s not that young boy anymore. Whatever you’re remembering, that was a long time ago.”

Breathless, Darcy looks up at him, feeling a surge of affection for him. “You believe me?” she asks, moving a step closer. “You believe they’re not just dreams?”

Lupin nods slowly. “You’ve given me no reason not to believe you,” he says, allowing her to take another step towards him. “Your aunt and uncle did not love you the way you should have been loved. Is it so strange for you to constantly remember a time where you felt such love? No, I don’t think so.”

Darcy’s close to him now, close enough to smell him — stale smoke from sitting in front of a roaring fire, faint traces of hot tea, woodsy and subtle. She fumbles with the front of his robes again, but Lupin reaches up to take her hands, lowering them. Lupin’s thumbs brush across her knuckles on both of her hands before letting go. “Kiss me,” she murmurs desperately, needing so badly to feel wanted. 

He swallows loudly, his face falling. “I can’t.” Lupin takes a step backwards. “I can’t give you what you want, Darcy.”

“What is it that you think I want?”

Lupin doesn’t answer for a long time, only looks at her with sad eyes. “You don’t want me.”

They stand there awkwardly for a few moments, clearing their throats and shuffling their feet. “You’ve been so good to me — far better to me than I deserve,” he says again, struggling to find the right words. Lupin lowers his voice, barely more than a whisper. “Why?”

She sniffs, wiping her cheeks again, wishing he could be wiping them for her. 

Lupin doesn’t press her for an answer. “Has anyone ever loved you, Darcy? Has anyone ever told you how much they care about you?”

Truthfully, she’d heard those things several times over her years — all from the lips of her friends, however, from Emily and Carla and sometimes, when she was in a good mood, from Gemma. But none of them love her in the way Darcy craves to be loved.  _ Who could ever love me like that?  _ A blush creeps up the back of her neck, making her skin tingle as it reaches her cheeks. She can’t admit to Lupin that no one’s ever loved her — so convinced is she that she doesn’t deserve that love, that to love her would be a burden for whatever brave man would be willing to have her.

Her silence gives Lupin the answer he’s looking for. “One day,” he tells her slowly, “someone will love you with all that they have, and you will wonder what you’ve done to deserve it. Make sure that person never lets you forget how much you are loved.”

Darcy frowns, looking away from him. She looks around the classroom, now destroyed and darkening as the candles around the walls burn down. His words hurt her — make her aware of the degree of loneliness that she feels even when surrounded by her fawning friends and her brother, and Darcy wishes she could fall asleep right now, if only to feel Sirius’s arms around her. Unable to stop her crying, she asks him, “Will you walk me back to the common room?”

“Yes.” But he doesn’t move. Darcy looks up at him with watery eyes, watching him face some inner conflict as his jaw clenches and unclenches. “Darcy?”

She hums in response quietly, waiting for him to continue. He opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it, taking a deep breath and moving forward. Lupin’s trembling hands find Darcy’s face, and he leans into her, hesitating and looking into her eyes before pressing his lips to her’s. It’s not the same as the last time — he doesn’t kiss her with the same passion, the same hunger. His kiss is soft and gentle this time, his mouth lingering on her’s for a few long seconds before he pulls away. 

Lupin collects himself, straightening up and combing his hair with his fingers. “It’s getting late,” he mutters. “We should get back.”

Not entirely sure why she decides to ask him this now, after what has been said and done, Darcy does it anyway. “Will you go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Professor McGonagall won’t let me go without a teacher,” she explains quickly. It suddenly occurs to her that she hasn’t yet told her friends about McGonagall’s request — she’d been so angry afterwards, she couldn’t talk for a few hours until after she’d calmed down. Not that it’s an entirely unreasonable request. Darcy admires McGonagall for thinking of her safety, but she isn’t sure what her friends will say when Professor Lupin accompanies them down to Hogsmeade tomorrow.

“All right,” Lupin replies. “If it makes you happy, I’ll go.” He nods towards the door, putting a hand on her back to lead her out. “Let’s get out of here.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY i've been so busy w work lately

The walk back to Gryffindor Tower seems to take forever. Darcy and Lupin walk together in silence up the many flights of moving stairs, side by side. Whenever they turn a corner, Darcy can feel Lupin’s fingertips on the small of her back, bringing her comfort. Down one of the corridors, Lupin grabs her arm and pulls her inside a broom closet, swearing under his breath at the sound of Peeves making his way towards them. They hold their breath, pressing their ears to the door to make sure the poltergeist is well out of the way before continuing down the drafty corridor.

“Do you think he’s gone?” Darcy breathes, her ear still to the door. The last thing she wants right now is Peeves finding her wandering the corridors with Lupin. 

“I think so,” Lupin answers, his face turned towards her’s. She can’t help but notice how close their faces are, and the adrenaline his kiss has given her surges through her still. They look at each other for the longest minute Darcy’s ever known, so long that she’s sure she’ll never forget the exact color of his eyes afterwards.

Before Lupin opens the door to let them out, he hesitates with his hand on the doorknob, and his eyes sweep Darcy up and down. She blushes furiously, looking away from him, feeling as though he’s just seen her completely naked. Down another corridor, they cross paths with Mrs. Norris and hurry past, trying to shoo her away, but Darcy is sure that she hears Filch’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs quickly, following the sound of his cat’s mewling. They pick up their pace after that, trying to ignore Mrs. Norris as she watches them until they’re out of sight.

Lupin walks her all the way to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Darcy wrinkles her nose at the smell of the armored trolls guarding the entrance, but they pay Darcy and Lupin little attention, too busy examining their clubs and stamping their feet on the hard ground. The Fat Lady looks at them skeptically, however, looking up from her nails to stare into their guilty faces. Darcy’s eyes are still swollen from crying, her cheeks blotchy and bright red. With Lupin, stone-faced, at her side, she doesn’t doubt they must seem like an odd couple to be wandering the halls so late at night, and for a horrible second, Darcy is sure the Fat Lady won’t let her in. The Fat Lady only mumbles under breath, however, then addresses Darcy directly.

“Your brother arrived nearly an hour ago,” she huffs, but Darcy is far too tired to argue with her. “Let me tell you something— seven years you’ve been skulking around these halls after curfew and I have—”

Darcy glares at the Fat Lady through puffy eyes, interrupting her to give the password. The Fat Lady rolls her eyes and her portrait swings open, unable to deny her entrance after giving the correct password. Turning to Lupin, Darcy pauses, running her fingers through her knotted hair. She can’t think of anything to say, can’t even bring herself to thank him for walking her all the way up to Gryffindor Tower. They both look at each other awkwardly, and Darcy finds it slightly endearing to see him look so nervous. She wonders then why she hadn’t kissed him in the broom closet, why she hadn’t told him to touch her after he’d looked her up and down. Feeling rather warm and flustered, Darcy decides to say nothing, afraid that something stupid will come spilling from her mouth. Finally, the Fat Lady clears her throat, and Darcy climbs through the portrait hole and Lupin turns to leave her. As soon as she steps foot in the common room, Darcy glances over her shoulder, watching Lupin walk away, hoping that he’ll turn back just to look one last time at her, but he doesn’t— or maybe he does, but the Fat Lady’s portrait swings shut quicker than Darcy would like.

Emily is still awake in the common room, half reading and half dozing in an armchair, a blanket pulled over her. There are a few others awake, as well — two fourth year girls play wizard's chess near the fire, Oliver Wood is pouring over magical Quidditch diagrams, and a couple of first years are huddled together on a sofa finishing their homework, bleary-eyed. At Darcy’s entrance, everyone looks up to see who’s coming in, and they soon return to their games and busy work, all except for Emily. Closing her book and standing up quickly, she leaps over to Darcy and the incredulous and slightly angry look on her face suddenly turns to worry at the sight of her friend. 

“Harry said you’d stayed behind— I thought I’d wait up for you,” she whispers, tucking Darcy’s hair behind her ears, out of her tear-stained face. “Are you all right?” 

Emily’s skin is warm and nurturing, and serenity seems to wash over her, a state of calm that only Emily’s ever been able to provide to her. The evening’s events don’t seem to bother her so much anymore, and she nuzzles into Emily’s palm, closing her eyes. “Do you love me, Emily?”

When she doesn’t answer, Darcy opens her eyes, feeling her heart break inside her chest. But Emily is only smiling, brushing tears off her face, running her fingers through Darcy’s hair. “Of course I do,” she breathes. “You’re my best and oldest friend. Now, will you tell me what’s going on?”

She considers it for a moment — considers telling Emily everything that had happened in the classroom (except for their kiss). She needs to hear ‘I love you’ over and over again, if not from Lupin’s mouth, than from Emily’s — from  _ someone’s _ . Darcy needs to hear that she is not alone, despite how she feels. If she’s being truthful, all she wants is for Lupin to hold to her, to comfort her, to drag his fingers through her hair and kiss her over and over and over again until all of her terrible thoughts and feelings are pushed from her mind, even if just for a little while. But instead of saying anything of the sort, Darcy only says, “I’m tired.”

Emily lowers her hands, shrugging slightly, still looking worried. “Okay.”

Darcy stays awake for a long time that night, reading Lupin’s poetry book by wandlight, curled up in her blankets. She reads each poem herself before examining Lupin’s notes in the margins, and then she rereads the poems again, trying to understand the way he reads them, trying to understand the way they make him feel. Darcy disagrees with some of his interpretations, and wholeheartedly agrees with others, but she cherishes them all the same. Feeling like a young girl again, Darcy remembers many of these poems as if she’d just recited them yesterday by the fireplace at Privet Drive with a pink tint to her cheeks and Aunt Petunia staring at her from behind her friends’ backs, her eyes nearly popping. Whenever Darcy had recited a poem correctly, without stumbling over her words, Petunia would let her choose a treat from the refrigerator before bed. Darcy had always been fond of the pudding cups, or leftover meat from dinner, and sometimes she would pick a soda, but it always left her feeling sick and even hungrier when she did crawl into bed.

She dreams of those days after her eyes grow too tired to keep open, after Lupin’s messy handwriting is burned onto her retinas, after her head begins to pound and her body begs for rest. She dreams of herself at seven-years-old being dropped off for dance classes, reading poetry for gossiping women, Petunia cutting her beautiful auburn hair when it would grow too long. Darcy tosses and turns all night, unsettled by what are probably the better memories of her childhood, and when the sun finally begins to rise, it’s a sweet relief. When the sun shines on her face, Darcy finds herself wishing she’d dreamt of Sirius Black again, or Lupin, or even her mother — at least then she wouldn’t have felt so alone in her dreams.

She decides to skip breakfast in the Great Hall, instead eating in the chilly courtyard by herself, stuffing her face with dry biscuits and lukewarm fried eggs. It’s still cold out, but at least she doesn’t have to worry about looking up to see Emily’s anxious expression or Lupin’s smile from the high table. Max comes to the courtyard to deliver her morning paper, and Darcy lets him eat her leftovers off her plate, stroking his feathers and letting him rub against her face before he flies back off to the Owlery. Darcy flips through her newspaper eagerly, hoping for something in regards to Sirius Black, but for once, she can’t find his name in any of the articles.

At the end of Transfiguration that morning, Professor McGonagall holds Darcy back for a quick word. Emily and Gemma leave them alone to head up to the library, planning on spending their free period to finish their Charms homework that’s due after lunch. McGonagall waits for Darcy’s friends to leave until addressing Darcy directly. “Professor Lupin told me at breakfast he’ll be accompanying you to Hogsmeade tomorrow,” she says with a small smile, as though approving of Darcy’s decision. “Though, he seemed to think that you would be perfectly fine without a teacher at your side —”

“I didn’t tell him to say that, Professor,” Darcy interrupts quickly, “I swear.”

Professor McGonagall continues to smile, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “I have no doubt in my mind that Professor Lupin is right. I’m sure that nothing will happen.” But as Darcy opens her mouth to protest, McGonagall puts on her stern face again. “Yes, he still must go with you, or you will stay here. I will not put your life at risk, Potter, not even for a minute. That’s exactly the reason I wouldn’t allow your brother to go, although it was very nice of you to sign his permission form.”

“I thought it would be fine if I signed it,” Darcy admits, having forgotten she ever did at all. 

McGonagall’s lips tighten, though not in anger. It seems as if she’s holding back a smile, and it makes Darcy smile, as well. “I couldn’t possibly accept a signature from you knowing that you’re equally as irresponsible as your brother. You’ll thank me later, Potter.” 

Exhausted after a long day of boring lessons and rich foods, Darcy collapses in her bed right after dinner. Emily follows her up to the dormitory, using her evening to catch up on the homework for Lupin that she’s been putting off the entire week. All Darcy can hear is the scratching of her quill on parchment, and every so often Emily flips through the pages of her book, looking for an answer. And then, about fifteen minutes later, Darcy feels her entire body relax and she falls asleep before the sky is even dark.

At breakfast Saturday morning, Gemma and Carla find their way to the Gryffindor table. Ignoring the angry glares and scoffing up and down the table, Gemma sits down on Darcy’s left, and Carla squeezes in between Emily and Ron, elbowing him out of the way. Unlike herself and Emily, Gemma and Carla are already ready to go down to Hogsmeade; Gemma has decided to put her faith in mother nature, abandoning her thick, black cloak for a black sweater with green and silver trimming, but Carla hasn’t forgotten her own cloak, and it’s wrapped tight around her shoulders, a little small for her already tiny figure. 

Darcy glances at the nearest window and can’t deny the coming of spring. The bright sunlight has melted most of the snow over the past week, leaving small patches here and there in the shade of large trees, and in the cooler areas up against the castle walls. Green is starting to make its way back to the Hogwarts grounds as the grass becomes visible again, small flowers begin to bloom, and leaves start to grow back on the branches of wild trees. Even the giant squid enjoys the change of weather, showing off his tentacles more often now that the top of the lake isn’t solid. 

“We have to stop by the Hog’s Head today — you know he always serves students,” Gemma whispers, but Hermione hears her, looking up to give Darcy a stern look, as if Darcy could change Gemma’s mind. Darcy only smiles back at Hermione innocently.

“I need a new quill,” Carla sighs. “I broke my last one last night after I couldn’t failed my own practice test. I mean, I  _ made  _ it! How could I fail it?”

“I was hoping to stop by the Post Office anyway,” Emily adds, finishing her breakfast quickly and pushing her plate away. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a letter from mum and dad. Just want to make sure they haven’t forgotten about me…”

Darcy inhales deeply, trying to determine the best way to let her friends know they’ll be spending the day alongside Professor Lupin. “My candy stash could use replenishing,” Darcy begins, scratching at her chin, looking away from her friends awkwardly. Then she adds very quickly, “Also, it’s whatever, but Professor McGonagall told me a teacher had to go with me, but I mean—”

“Hang on, hang on, hang on— Professor McGonagall’s coming with us?” Emily hisses, looking as though this is the worst possible news she could have gotten at this time.

“No! No, no— she told me I could choose…” Darcy continues, trailing off as everyone starts to talk over her. 

“ _ Please _ tell me you asked Hagrid to come,” Carla sighs, stretching across Emily and looking up at Darcy with wide eyes. “He’d let you go off with us, wouldn’t he?”

“Not likely,” Emily counters with a small snort. “Hagrid would probably keep her tucked in his coat pocket for good measure.”

“As long as it’s not Professor Snape…” Carla says seriously, raising her eyebrows and glancing over at Snape, to make sure he’s not able to hear her. “No offense, Darcy, but I’m not going if Professor Snape is.”

“I’m with Carla,” Emily quips, nodding her head. “Though, Professor Snape would probably leave us alone for the most part… I mean, he’s not going to want to spend the whole day with us, is he?”

“Maybe if we were annoying enough, he’d leave us alone…” Carla wonders, and Emily seems convinced.

“If you did choose Professor Snape, I’d at least go with you,” Gemma laughs. Darcy turns to look at Gemma, who’s smiling at her kindly and propping her head up with her arm on the table. “Go on, Darcy,” she grins, almost knowingly. “Tell us you really chose.”

Hesitating, Darcy shrugs. “Er— Professor Lupin.”

Emily and Carla groan dramatically, though Carla’s outburst seems good-natured, only teasing. Emily, however, looks slightly irritated. Both of them start to talk at the same time again, asking what had possibly possessed her to choose Lupin over Hagrid. Darcy scoffs, feeling her cheeks turning red, and she turns back to Gemma, who is still flashing Darcy a toothy grin. As Emily and Carla continue to talk in Darcy’s ear, Gemma shrugs. “Fine with me,” Gemma says, brushing her dark hair out of her face. She leans in close to Darcy, lowering her voice to barely a whisper. “You chose the one teacher who wants to fuck you — he’ll let us do whatever we want.”

Darcy’s entire face flushes scarlet. She can’t think of anything to say for a moment, and then stammers, “Wh — what —?  _ Gemma _ !” Glancing across the table, Darcy sees Harry looking at them curiously, noticing Darcy’s red face. Darcy clears her throat. With her confidence wavering, she snaps in a furious whisper, “ _ He does not want to fuck me _ !”

Gemma doesn’t stop smiling, but it’s not an accusing smile. She seems amused, as if this is all some big joke to her. Darcy has to remind herself that, to Gemma, it  _ is _ only a joke. Gemma doesn’t know what has happened between Darcy and Lupin behind closed doors, doesn’t know about their stolen kisses, doesn’t understand the closeness they share. Gemma sits up straighter on the bench, her back to the high teachers’ table. “I’ll give you five Galleons if Lupin isn’t looking at you right now smiling that stupid smile.”

Frowning, Darcy doesn’t look away from Gemma, afraid to look up and find Lupin’s eyes fixed on her. “It’s not st —” She shakes her head. “You don’t have five Galleons on you anyway.”

“Is he looking?”

Darcy looks past Gemma reluctantly, and sure enough, Lupin seems to have looked up just in time to meet her eyes. He is, of course, smiling at her from across the Great Hall, and Darcy can’t help but to smile back weakly. At the look on Darcy’s face, Gemma turns around to find Professor Lupin sitting in between Professors Flitwick and McGonagall. When Professor Lupin looks away, Gemma looks at Darcy again, acknowledging both Emily and Carla now that they’ve stopped talking. In an undertone to Darcy, she says, “You owe me five Galleons.”

The walk down to Hogsmeade is quiet and awkward. Darcy and Lupin walk slower than her other friends; Emily and Carla lead them, while Gemma walks by herself in the middle. Other students look at Darcy as they pass, and Darcy feels shame rising in her, feels absolutely humiliated, and she almost turns around halfway down to the village to return to the castle. As she’s considering this, Hermione and Ron greet her enthusiastically; Ron grabs her arm and pulls her away from Lupin slightly so he’s unable to eavesdrop. “Harry’s coming to Hogsmeade later… he’s using the Invisibility Cloak this time,” he whispers in Darcy’s ear. “If you want to get together…”

“Sorry,” Darcy frowns apologetically, shaking Ron off her arm. For a brief moment, she wishes she’d have thought of using the cloak, and not having to worry about being publicly embarrassed. She wonders if Harry would allow her to join him underneath it, granted there was room for the two of them to comfortably fit while being shuffled around by rowdy students and hurried villagers. “McGonagall said I have to be with a teacher.”

“We’ll catch up later, then,” Hermione calls, waving goodbye to Darcy and pulling Ron along with her.

Once in the village, however, the five of them linger awkwardly on the High Street. Emily mentions that she needs to visit the Post Office again, and Carla trails after her, bidding Darcy a quick “see you later”. Gemma smiles at both Darcy and Professor Lupin, patting Darcy’s shoulder and winking quick. “I have to run some errands, but I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

Darcy only nods and watches as her friends walk off, leaving her. Lupin sighs loudly to break the silence, running a hand through his his hair. “Go on,” he says, defeated. Darcy watches him warily. Lupin raises his eyebrows when she continues to stand still. “Go on — go be with your friends.”

“Is this a trap?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “Are you tricking me?”

“Not a trick,” Lupin insists. “Stick to the High Street, and keep close to the Three Broomsticks, just in case McGonagall decides to check in on you. If you find yourself missing my company, you’ll find me in there.”

She pauses, thinking it over. “If McGonagall catches me, you’ll be taking the blame?”

Lupin smiles. “I’ll take whatever blame I can, though if I know McGonagall, I don’t think you’ll escape without at least a stern talking to.” They both chuckle. “Now go, before I change my mind.”

“Thank you.” And with that, Darcy turns on her heel and speeds down the High Street. She checks the Post Office first, but doesn’t see any sign of her friends. She weaves in and out of the crowd in the streets, enjoying the spring weather, and Darcy finds herself in Zonko’s Joke Shop after Fred and George Weasley catch her eye. She does end up buying a few things from Zonko’s, sneaking away from the twins before they can pull her into another shop.

Darcy searches for her friends for nearly an hour to no avail, making quick stops in a few of the shops; she leaves Honeydukes with handfuls of candy, ends up buying some flowery-smelling parchment from Scrivenshaft’s, and buys the coziest looking socks she’s ever seen after passing by a display in the window of Gladrags Wizardwear. With a slight skip in her step and several bags hanging off her wrists, her face falls when she leaves the Gladrags and looks down the road towards the Three Broomsticks, where McGonagall has just left in a hurry. Darcy groans inwardly as Professor McGonagall walks briskly towards her, followed by Lupin, who seems to be trying to defuse the situation.

As they get nearer, Darcy can hear more clearly what they’re saying, and McGonagall is scolding Lupin as if he’s one of her students. “— I thought  _ you _ , Remus, of all people, would be concerned for her safety —”

“— nothing was going to happen — I had it under control, I told her to stay near the Three Broomsticks, and she’s fine — look, there she is now —”

“— lucky I decided to come check in… who knows what would have happened —” Professor McGonagall approaches Darcy in the middle of the street, and Darcy looks past her shoulder at Lupin, who gives her an apologetic smile. 

Preparing herself for a ‘stern talking to’, as Lupin had called it, Darcy yelps when McGonagall reaches out to snatch her ear. “Ouch — Professor! Ow — ow — ow —” Pinching her earlobe tightly, McGonagall drags a shocked Darcy to the side of the street before letting go, and Darcy’s hand flies up to her ear to massage it. “I’m  _ sorry _ !”

“Potter, this is my only and final warning, do you understand me?” McGonagall says shortly. “So help me — I did you a service by allowing you to come and you blatantly ignore my  _ one _ rule —”

“It was my fault,” Lupin interrupts, stepping between McGonagall and Darcy, holding up his hands as if calming a wild animal. Darcy peers around his torso at McGonagall. “I told her to go.” 

Darcy looks at her with a bewildered expression, flattening the front of her cloak and gathering up what’s left of her dignity. “Sorry!” she breathes, fixing her hair. “I’m sorry, Professor.”

McGonagall sizes the two of them up, glances around at the students who are watching, and leaves, muttering under her breath and shooing the other students away. Once she’s out of sight down the High Street, Lupin turns around to face Darcy, having a hard time keeping his smile at bay. “How’s your ear?” he asks, suppressing a chuckle.

“She’s got a firm grip,” Darcy mutters, rubbing her ear again. 

Lupin nods, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t think there should be any lasting physical damage,” he teases. “I’m sorry. I thought she’d come down eventually to check in on us, but I didn’t think it would be so soon. If it makes you feel any better, she yelled at me, as well — where are your friends?” He looks around, suddenly noticing that Darcy is alone.

“I couldn’t find them,” Darcy answers, shrugging her shoulders. “I appreciate you letting me go off, though, even if your plan didn’t work out. Unless it was a trick all along, in which case I suppose it worked out perfectly well.”

Lupin laughs. “It wasn’t a trick,” he insists. “I was only trying to be nice, and look where it got me — scolded by a very angry Professor McGonagall. That’s something I thought I would never have to witness again. I’ll remember that next time before I try to do something nice for you.”

Darcy pauses, shielding her eyes from the sun and smiling up at him. “A small price to pay in order to earn my favor, I should think,” Darcy murmurs, as a group of Ravenclaw fifth and sixth years walk past them, waving at Professor Lupin and accidentally bumping Darcy closer to him. Darcy feels her cheeks turn pink as Lupin politely nods at them in acknowledgement, not moving away from Darcy.

He looks back to her almost immediately. “You think so?” he asks, not looking back once at the group of girls giggling behind him, glaring in his direction. When the girls begin to scatter, Lupin continues. “It’s far easier and less embarrassing to just give you a compliment.”

Darcy tries to keep her face from turning any redder, but judging by Lupin’s smile, she’s failed terribly. “Flattery gets you nowhere, Professor Lupin.”

“Of course,” Lupin agrees, seeming amused. “But how could I possibly pass up an opportunity to make you blush? It’s quite endearing.” Nodding towards the nearby pub, Lupin chuckles to himself. “Should we get a drink? Maybe an ice pack for your ear?”

Unable to refuse (not that she really wants to), Darcy follows Lupin into the Three Broomsticks, glancing around at everyone inside. She spots a wiry-haired and stooped wizard with small glasses that sit perfectly on the tip of his bulbous nose; a witch no older than Lupin who reminds Darcy forcibly of Snape with dark oily hair and an oily face to match; no less than ten Hufflepuffs aged thirteen to eighteen seated around the largest table in the pub, laughing and sipping butterbeer; Draco Malfoy and his cronies sit at a corner table, and he sneers at the sight of Darcy and Lupin, his cold eyes fixed upon her as Lupin leads her to the back of the Three Broomsticks and out of sight. Darcy is grateful he chooses a table in the shadows, away from prying eyes, and despite just eating breakfast, Darcy’s stomach growls at the thought of Madam Rosmerta’s delicious comfort food.

With the sounds of laughter and the excited buzz of conversation ringing in her head, Darcy frowns, suddenly wishing her friends were with her. Part of her is hurt that Emily hadn’t even hesitated before leaving her with Professor Lupin. Surely Emily knew and understood that Darcy didn’t  _ choose _ to bring a teacher with her — surely Emily realized that Professor Lupin was one of the better choices as far as teachers went? But Darcy is glad that she asked Lupin; he orders them both drinks and asks if she’s hungry — which she is — but Darcy keeps glances towards the door every time the bells tinkle to let everyone know that someone has just entered. However, her friends do not enter the pub breathless and pink-cheeked, carrying several bags from all kinds of stores, and she sighs heavily. Fifteen minutes later, when Madam Rosmerta brings out their food, Darcy stares down at her thick soup, suddenly not hungry anymore.

Darcy pushes her bowl away from her, leaning back in her seat, becoming increasingly disappointed. Lupin tries to keep the conversation light, but he seems to tire of being the only one to laugh at jokes that Darcy barely hears. After a few long minutes of silence, Lupin leans over the table, lowers his voice, and tries a different tact.

“You had asked me what I was doing before I came back here,” Lupin says softly. “And I want to apologize for not answering when you asked before. I can’t think of any reasons as to why you shouldn’t know.

Darcy meets his eyes, stopping him before he can continue. “Please don’t tell me why only because you feel sorry for me,” she says in a rush. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Lupin gives her a small smile. “If you still want to know, I don’t mind telling you.” He waits for a response, and Darcy nods very slowly. When Darcy had asked before, he’d seemed irritable and embarrassed, but now he seems cheerful and it throws her off guard. “Dumbledore happened to catch me at a bad time, in between jobs. But before I was doing absolutely nothing with my life, I did have quite the career, if you must know. If you’re interested in another line of work, I could probably get you in touch with the head custodian at St Mungo’s.”

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, watching him. While Lupin is still smiling at her, it isn’t the same happy smile he usually gives her. Darcy feels suddenly sad for him, pursing her lips tightly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a great teacher. You belong here, at Hogwarts.”

“You’re kind to say so.” He takes a long drink out of his tankard, setting it back down lightly on the table. He hasn’t touched his food yet. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

“Why didn’t you write to me? Or reach out?” she asks suddenly.

Lupin cocks an eyebrow, looking surprised. “You had no idea who I was before we met on the train,” he answers. “You had no idea I even existed. Why would I have written to you?”

“I know, but — you could have explained everything to me,” Darcy plunges on, “and I would have helped you. All you would have had to do was ask and I would have done anything I could to help you.”

Lupin opens his mouth to reply, closing it after he fails to find the proper words to say. “Darcy,” he says, rather breathlessly. “I couldn’t ask that of you — not then, not now, not ever.” Lupin reaches out his hand as if to touch her, but pulls it away quickly at the last minute, his cheeks turning slightly red. His eyes roam over the Three Broomsticks’ patrons before falling on Darcy’s face again. “I don’t want your money, love. Your company is enough.”

“I’m only saying — if you ever need anything, I —”

“I don’t want your money,” he says again, not unkindly. 

They finish their early lunch quickly, and Darcy tries to pay for their food before he can even think about paying for his own, but Lupin grabs her wrist before she can set the money on the table. With his other hand, he reaches in his cloak pocket, pulling out enough coins to pay for his food and Darcy’s. Defeated, Darcy puts her money away. “Will you ever let me do anything for you?” she asks as they leave the pub, basking in the warm sunlight. Darcy glances around the High Street, looking for her friends, but they’re nowhere to be seen and she sighs heavily yet again, more disappointed than ever.

“No,” Lupin answers with a smile. Darcy looks at him and sees his smile fall slightly, and she furrows her brow, frowning. “You know, I’ve got a huge pile of homework and essays to grade that I’ve been putting off. I could use some company.”

She wishes she could hug him then — all she wants is to show him how much he means to her. Darcy needs him to know that she appreciates him and his efforts to cheer her. “All right.”

“And, er —” Lupin looks around nervously, putting a hand on her shoulder to lead her back up the High Street. “If you don’t mind, of course… my favorite sweater has a hole in it…”


	40. Chapter 40

Before joining Lupin in his office, Darcy makes a quick trip back to Gryffindor Tower to drop off her bags and shed her cloak. She gets a surprise when she finds Emily seated by the fire, painting her nails a rich red color. At the sound of the portrait opening and closing, she looks up at Darcy, who is laden with bags. Slowly, Darcy makes her way over to Emily, who goes back to her nails, working hard to keep her right hand from shaking. “You must be angry with us,” Emily begins coolly, only making Darcy angrier. “We were going to come have lunch with you and Lupin, but we, er —” Emily looks up, looking apologetic. “McGonagall caught us trying to smuggle some firewhisky down our shirts. She was furious with us. Four detentions for each of us and letters home to our parents. Carla’s writing to her parents now before McGonagall gets the chance to.”

Darcy almost laughs out loud, her heart soaring. Her wrists begin to ache from the heavy bags, and Darcy takes a step towards the spiral stairs. “I was looking for you — Lupin let me off on my own before McGonagall caught me too.”

Emily looks at Darcy seriously, as if the memory pains her. “She grabbed my ear,” she whispers, horrified, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears to show Darcy her swollen earlobe. “Pulled me almost the entire way up to the castle.”

At this, Darcy does laugh, making her way up to her dormitory. Once inside, she dumps her candy into the bottom drawer of her nightstand, puts her socks and parchment away, and then gets down on her hands and knees to put her Zonkos products under her bed. Pushing the bag underneath, it hits something, and Darcy grabs her wand from her pocket, mutters “ _ Lumos _ ” and illuminates the tip. She moves the bag to the side and finds a thick, leather bound book in the way. Smiling to herself, Darcy grabs the photo album and flips through it, as if looking at it for the first time again. Struck with a sudden idea, she holds it tight, even as she removes her cloak and tosses it onto her bed.

Darcy jumps down the stairs two at a time back into the common room, where Emily is blowing on her freshly painted nails and holding them by the fire to let them dry. She doesn’t fail to notice Darcy rushing past her towards the portrait hole, the photo album clutched tightly to her chest. “Where are you going?” Emily asks quickly as the portrait swings open to allow Darcy to exit. 

Freezing with one foot across the threshold, Darcy looks over her shoulder at Emily, suddenly nervous to admit where she’s going. “Well, I — I wanted to show Professor Lupin my photo album,” she explains hesitantly. “I thought he’d like it. I’ll be back before dinner.”

Emily narrows her eyes, glancing around the nearly empty common room. With everyone enjoying their day in Hogsmeade, there are only a few first and second years hanging around, ignoring Darcy and Emily for the most part. But Emily stands, claps her hands once (careful not to mess up the nail polish) and shouts, “Everyone out!”

There’s an awkward silence as the younger students look at Emily with wide eyes, but when she claps again, they all scramble — some go out the portrait hole, shuffling Darcy back inside the common room, and it closes behind them; the other students sprint up the spiral staircase towards the dormitories, and Emily waits until she hears the closing of doors before she takes a careful step towards Darcy. “What?” Darcy asks, standing her ground.

“Darcy,” Emily begins, as if struggling to hold back her anger. She twists her face into a smile, sighing heavily. “I am  _ so _ happy that you and Professor Lupin met — truly, I am. Don’t misunderstand me, please, I know that you want to spend time with him, but have you thought that, maybe — you’ve been spending  _ too  _ much time together?”

Darcy scoffs, but before she’s able to reply, Emily continues.

“You just spent the day with him in Hogsmeade — you have dinner once a week, sometimes more, plus your Patronus lessons every Thursday,” she says, checking these things off on her fingers. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone with him so often in his own —  _ private  _ apartments, and don’t think I don’t notice him staring at you  _ all the time _ , and don’t act like you don’t privately enjoy it because I see the way that you look at him —”

“Emily —” Darcy cuts in, but Emily keeps talking. “Emily, it’s not —”

“He’s taking advantage of you, Darcy,” Emily continues, speaking to Darcy with a low voice, as if Darcy were on her deathbed. Emily rubs Darcy’s arms in comfort, but Darcy shakes her off, frowning. 

“No, he’s not,” Darcy retorts, hurt. “That’s not true. How could you say that?” She takes a step back towards the portrait hole. 

Emily hesitates, perhaps knowing that she’s said something she shouldn’t have. “Come on, Darcy,” she sighs. “Don’t act like when he looks at you, he’s not seeing your mum. He’s using you to feel close to his old friends again.”

Darcy lowers the photo album from her chest. Emily’s words sting, are a dagger to the heart, and though she can’t believe that Lupin would do that — she  _ can’t  _ believe it — Emily’s total confidence in her sentiment gives Darcy pause. “No,” Darcy says again, more firmly. But she remembers one of her first times alone with Lupin, when she’d asked him if he only saw her as Lily and James’s daughter — Lupin hadn’t really answered her question, she remembers, only tried to cheer her up. There is no doubt in her mind that perhaps at one time, Lupin  _ had _ only seen her as Lily and James’s daughter, but after all that’s happened over the past few months — their meeting in the Shrieking Shack and all the time they’d spent together afterwards, after all that she’d told him, all she’d confided in him, all that they’ve done… “No, you’re wrong. You don’t know what he says to me when we’re alone. He’s my friend.”

“No, Darcy, he’s not,” Emily says, very quietly. She crosses her arms over her chest and purses her lips as Darcy digests this. “He’s your teacher.”

Darcy doesn’t know what to say. She watches Emily closely, wanting to run through the portrait hole, out of of the Gryffindor common room — she wants to run to Lupin, to hear his reassurances that Emily is wrong, that she doesn’t understand, that she’s only saying these things to hurt Darcy, to discourage her. Emily can’t  _ possibly _ believe that Lupin’s only using Darcy — she has no idea of the closeness between them, cannot fathom the joy that Lupin’s brought her these past few months. Emily hasn’t seen Lupin interact with Harry during Patronus lessons — Darcy’s seen the softness in Lupin’s face when he’s looking at her brother, has seen the light in his eyes when in such close confines with herself and Harry. 

“Whatever feelings you have for him, Darcy,” Emily starts again, rather uncomfortably, and Darcy holds onto the photo album tightly as if it will bring her some small comfort. “You know that he cannot return them.”

“I know that,” Darcy snaps, face reddening. She and Emily stare at each other for a few silent seconds. Unable to look Emily in the face for much longer, Darcy makes up her mind. “I’ll be back before dinner.”

Darcy rushes down the many flights of stairs, still reeling from her conversation with Emily. She tries to ignore it, tries to ignore that fact that she may or may not have admitted to Emily’s face that she has feelings for Lupin that are beyond that of a student’s normal feelings for their teacher. But Darcy also knows that Lupin is not just her teacher, something she’s tried to tell herself for months now whenever thoughts of her kissing him resurface. 

_ He’s not just my teacher _ , she thinks, hurrying down the empty corridor to Lupin’s classroom.  _ He’s my parents’ best friend  _ — she wrenches the door of the classroom open —  _ old enough to be my father  _ — Darcy makes her way across the classroom to the door of his office, and she opens that door, too —  _ a werewolf, a werewolf that attacked me, that scarred me.  _ The door to his apartments is open, a thick slab of stone wall typically hidden from students. She peers inside, sees Lupin straightening a pile of papers with his back to her, and Darcy slips inside, shutting the door behind her. The sound of it makes Lupin stand up straight, and he turns to look at her, smiling weakly. 

At the sight of him, Emily’s words are driven from her mind. Darcy stands still for a moment, taking in the sight of him — he seems to have combed his shaggy, brown hair off to the side; for once, it doesn’t fall into his face, and Darcy’s first thought is that, if Harry’s hair looked like that, she’d have insisted he need a haircut. The light from the candles, fire, and lamps illuminate his weary face with a rich orange glow, making the lines on his face and flecks of gray in his hair more visible. 

As she stands there, looking him up and down, she finds Lupin’s eyes, as well, wandering down from her face, but they stop on the book in her arms and he cocks an eyebrow. “What is that?” he asks curiously.

“I wanted to show you something,” she explains, and Darcy moves towards the sofa to sit down. Lupin watches after her, until Darcy looks over her shoulder at him and says, “Come here.”

She doesn’t have to tell him twice. Lupin stops fidgeting with his papers and walks empty-handed over to her, seating himself at her side. Darcy opens the photo album to the first page, to reveal to him that it’s her photo album, and the two of them get comfortable, making sure they’re both able to see the pictures. As she holds it out for Lupin to look at with her, Darcy feels him sitting closer than he usually does — closer than he ever has, she thinks. Darcy tucks her feet under her, their arms touching in earnest, not a distracted touch or just brushing against each other’s. She has the fleeting idea to rest her head on his shoulder, it’s so close to her, it’d be so easy to do. Instead, she clears her throat, and they look at the photo album together.

Heart racing, Darcy explains. “This is what Hagrid made for us after he asked for those photographs,” she tells him, looking into his face and seeing his eyes scan the page, lingering on each picture. 

Lupin gives some of the photographs a solemn look, he chuckles at others, points out which ones he’d given to Hagrid, and tells Darcy the story behind a few of them. All the while, their bodies relax, growing more comfortable with being so close to each other, and they lean into one another. Darcy finds it very hard to resist resting her cheek on his shoulder now, not when the opportunity is so perfect. When she turns the page again, Lupin shifts beside her to keep the book resting against his knee, and they’re so close now that their shoulders overlap, and Lupin does nothing to move away from her.

She turns another page and Darcy notices the photograph of her parents on their wedding day stand out among the others. Darcy watches her mother and father share loving glances, watches her younger self swing from Sirius’s leg as he smiles for the picture. Lupin looks at it for a long time, and Darcy can’t help but to ask him, “Were you there that day?”

Lupin looks down at her, inches away from his face, and he smiles. “I took the picture.”

“You did?”

He hums in return, eyes snapping back to it again. 

“For the longest time, I didn’t know who he was,” Darcy admits, looking at Sirius Black. “Azkaban changed him so.” She inhales sharply, the sight of Sirius Black makes her want to cry. “He was so handsome here. And my father — my  _ mother _ — she was so beautiful, so happy.”

Lupin doesn’t answer. His eyes flick from Sirius, to Darcy’s father, to her mother, to the little girl hiding behind Sirius’s leg. It seems to Darcy that every time she looks at the photograph, her younger self gets closer and closer to Sirius, leaving her parents to hold hands and give one-armed hugs and kisses on the cheek. Darcy glances at Lupin again; his jaw is clenched and he swallows hard. Deciding quickly that it’s now or never, Darcy goes to rest her head on his shoulder. With them being so close, Darcy only has to move very slightly until her cheek is upon his shoulder. Lupin makes no move to shrug her off, so they sit there for a little bit, completely still.

As soon as she closes her eyes, however, the fire begins to crackle loudly and the flames double in size, now an emerald green color. Lupin and Darcy both jump, sitting up straight and leaning forward. The photo album falls to the ground as Lupin gets to his feet when a voice echoes from the fire — “Lupin!” Snape’s voice shouts, ringing in Darcy’s head. “I want a word!”

Lupin scrambles over to the fireplace, looking back at Darcy as he puts a foot into the flames. “Stay here until I come back —” but the rest of his sentence goes unheard as the flames take him. Lupin spins quickly in the hearth, ducking down, and then he’s gone.

Darcy watches the fire as it returns to normal again. The sound of Snape’s voice so suddenly had frightened her, and for a split second she had though Snape was going to appear out of the fire, clambering out into Lupin’s apartments. It takes a second for her heartbeat to slow down, takes a second for her to catch her breath. Darcy stands, picking up the photo album and putting it back on the couch. She puts her trembling hands on her hips and begins to pace the length of Lupin’s apartments, waiting for him to come back. 

She goes over to the stacks of parchment, flicking through them. She finds one of Hermione’s essays — three times as long as the others, only half of it marked by Lupin; Darcy’s own homework is in another stack, ungraded and untouched. Several old quills sit by the stacks with an ink bottle almost out of ink. On the counters and shelves against the back wall, Lupin keeps snacks and food bought in Hogsmeade tucked away — chocolate and peanut brittle, toffee and bottles of butterbeer — and some food that Darcy imagines he’s taken directly from the kitchens in the castle — tiny cakes and dinner rolls, a few crimson apples and a bunch of bananas, pumpkin juice in a large jug. 

Remembering the first time she’d been inside his private apartments, Darcy recalls that he hadn’t quite moved in. Now, however, Lupin seems to have grown into his space. His cloak is thrown over the back of the sofa where he’d been sitting only minutes ago, stacks of books fill the once empty shelves that line the wall by the fireplace, and through the narrow crack where the door of his sleeping area is barely open, she sees his trunk open with its contents spilling out. In the small cabinet where he’d gotten the mead out of, Darcy digs around to see what he’s been keeping away from her. She finds two bottles of wine inside, one red and one white, another bottle of mead, and to her pleasant surprise, an enormous bottle of brandy. She shuts the cabinet door before getting any ideas.

Half of her expects Lupin to be back quickly, to shoot back through the fireplace as if nothing had happened. But he doesn’t arrive, and the minutes grow longer and longer. Darcy gets increasingly anxious, wondering if she shouldn’t go back to her common room, or at least go try to find Professor Lupin. He had asked her to stay here until he returned — Darcy checks her watch and realizes it’s been twenty minutes already. How much longer will it take him? And  _ what _ could have possibly angered Snape so badly that he felt it necessary to summon Lupin by Floo powder? And had he been able to see her in his chambers, sitting so close? Surely not, as Darcy hadn’t seen him, and though she knows little of the workings of Floo powder, she doesn’t think it works that way. Surely there’d have been a sneer, a dry laugh, an angry growl if Snape had seen her?

Still pacing, Darcy checks her watch again. Twenty-five minutes. What was he doing? 

Thirty minutes. Darcy stops pacing, pausing. She picks up her photo album off the sofa, glances into the fire, and then makes up her mind. If Lupin wants to explain everything later, he knows where to find her. It’s not as if they won’t see each other again. Darcy makes her way towards the door, preparing to head back to the common room, but as she pulls the door open, Lupin’s already making his way inside. His sudden entrance surprises her, but she closes the door after him all the same. That’s when she sees what’s in his hand, and her heart sinks.

“Where did you get that?” she asks too quickly. 

Lupin turns around, holding up the blank piece of folded parchment Darcy recognizes as the Marauder’s Map. He moves closer to her, looking from the map to Darcy. “You’ve known that Harry’s had this, yet you didn’t say anything?” Lupin snaps. 

Darcy opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out. She can’t see how he can be so angry about it — after all, she’d never seen the map do or say anything malicious, and Harry had never complained about it. Unsure of how to respond, Darcy smiles, laughing incredulously. “It’s just a joke,” she tells Lupin, decided suddenly to lie. “Ron probably got it for him from Zonko’s.”

“That was their story, as well,” Lupin replies, in a tone she’s never heard before. Darcy can’t tell if he’s more concerned or amused. “There’s only one place Harry could have gotten this — Mr. Filch confiscated this map years ago, and I can assure you that Ron did not buy this at a joke shop.”

Darcy narrows her eyes. “How do you know what it is?”

“Nevermind how I know,” Lupin replies. He takes a step closer. “Did you ever think for one second what could have happened had this been left laying around? Did you ever think for a second what could have happened had Sirius Black picked this up?”

Now that Lupin says something, Darcy has to admit she hadn’t thought of that at all. The map is harmless, she tells herself.  _ Harry wouldn’t have let anyone else touch the map. I wouldn’t have let anyone else touch the map _ . “It was safe with us — with Harry,” she insists. “Sirius Black wouldn’t have gotten hold of it.”

“You can’t know that,” Lupin says shortly. “I will tell you the same thing I just told your brother. Your parents gave their lives to save you, and by not telling anyone about  _ this _ —” He waves the Marauder’s Map in her face, and Darcy frowns. “I thought you were smarter than this. I’d thought you, of all people, would have recognized the danger this could have put you and your brother in. A poor way to repay your parents after all they did for you.”

Darcy stares at him, dumbstruck, as he throws the map onto the table with the piles of homework. Anger suddenly surges through her, and Emily words reverberate ten fold inside of her mind. “You don’t have to remind me what my parents did for me,” she hisses, surprised at the anger in her tone. Lupin looks at her for a moment, standing still. “It’s just a stupid map —”

“A map that would lead Sirius Black directly to you and Harry if it happened into his hands,” Lupin says. He gives a frustrated sigh, moving towards Darcy. “If anything happened to you or Harry — I couldn’t — the least I can do for your parents, after all they did for me, is protect you —”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Darcy interrupts, holding the photo album tight to her, inching towards the door. She can’t shake Emily’s words, and Darcy suddenly realizes the harsh truth her friend had been speaking. “That’s all I am to you, aren’t I? I’ve always been Lily and James’s daughter to you.” She takes another step backwards, but Lupin matches her with a step forwards. “I thought we were  _ friends _ , but Emily is right, you’ve just been using me to feel close to my parents again —”

Lupin doesn’t falter, cutting her off. “Is that what you think?” His face suddenly softens, his eyes flicking from her face to the photo album, back up to her face again. Lupin drags a hand down his face. “That’s not true, and you know that.”

Darcy looks past Lupin at the map still sitting on the table. A blush creeps up her neck, making her cheeks flush. “Are you going to give that back?” she asks, and Lupin seems taken aback that she’s had the audacity to ask for it. “It belongs to Harry and me.”

“No, you can’t have it back,” Lupin tells her firmly. “It will be safe here.”

“It will be safe with Harry and me,” Darcy says again, straightening up to make herself as tall as possible. Lupin still stands about a head taller than her, and her display of boldness clearly doesn’t change his mind.

Lupin looks at her with a mild expression. “You can’t have it back, Darcy,” he repeats. “I would have thought, especially after what happened to Ron, that you’d be a bit more cautious lately. Do you  _ want _ Sirius Black to find you?”

A shiver of fear goes through her, but only for a split second. “No.” But Darcy hesitates, and knows that Lupin has noticed her uncertainty. But could she deny a chance to face Sirius? To look into his face, to see if she can see a shred of the man he was still there, to ask him why he’d betrayed her parents. But to think of Sirius coming so close to Harry, so close to murdering the last of her true family — her fear at the idea of Harry being murdered overpowers her anger, and Darcy swallows the lump in her throat. “No, I don’t.”

“Then the map will stay with me.” He casts the map a sideways glance, as if to make sure it’s still resting on the table, then looks back at Darcy. He lets the silence hang over them for a little while, and when Lupin realizes that Darcy isn’t going to argue again, he continues. “I have never once forgotten who you are, Darcy. When I met you and Harry on that train, I felt things that I’ve not felt in years — to see you both standing in front of me, it was like looking at James and Lily one last time. You being their daughter is what brought us together — yes, I first took an interest in you because you were James and Lily’s daughter, but — it has been a long time since I’ve known a friend like you, and I often find myself wondering… if things were different… if I wasn’t — if you weren’t —” He shakes his head suddenly, looking disgusted with himself, and he closes the gap between them, taking two steps nearer.

Darcy looks up at him, her head swimming. Slowly, Lupin reaches up, taking the photo album from her hands and placing it on the table behind him, holding the map down.  _ If things were different…  _ She furrows her brow as he wanders back over to her. Darcy reaches out and absentmindedly brushes ash off the front of his sweater.  _ If I wasn’t his student, _ she thinks, biting her lip,  _ If I wasn’t a Potter. _

Lupin lifts his hands to touch her face gently. Darcy’s breathing quickens, and she looks up into his face, her eyes fixed on his lips. Suddenly, she feels foolish — how could she ever believe Emily? How could she ever think that someone who touches her so softly, so tenderly, could ever take advantage of her?  _ And if he is only using me _ , she thinks,  _ let him. Let him use me  _ —  _ let me feel loved for just a few more months. _

He presses a lingering kiss to her forehead, and affection for Lupin surges through her. When he pulls away from her, Darcy falls into him, resting her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart with her arms wrapped around his middle. He stands there with his arms at his sides, but after a few moments he snakes his arms around her. Darcy closes her eyes, nuzzling into him.  _ If he is using me, let him use me for the rest of my life. _


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my kid is sick today so i've been binge watching that 70s show all day

Darcy and Professor Lupin walk down to dinner together; Darcy’s stomach growls the entire way. Halfway to the Great Hall, they’re intercepted by Hermione and Emily, who to seem to have been waiting for them near the Entrance Hall. Hermione’s eyes are puffy and swollen, and she sniffles, holding out a letter in her hands. Emily, looking solemn, puts a hand on Hermione’s shoulder as she gives Darcy the damp piece of parchment. Darcy takes it slowly, giving Hermione a suspicious look.

“Is everything all right?” Lupin asks, moving closer to Darcy to read over her shoulder. “Oh —”

Staring at the shaky handwriting for a few seconds, Darcy looks up at Hermione, dumbstruck. “They can’t execute Buckbeak,” she insists, scoffing. “Not after everything we’ve done — Hagrid had a solid defense!”

“You know what Lucius Malfoy is like,” Hermione whispers, glancing quickly at Professor Lupin before looking back at Darcy. “The Committee will do anything he says. There’ll still be an appeal, though, but… unless we can find something really good, it won’t matter.”

“I’ll help,” Emily says suddenly. “I’ll help this time. Between the four of us, we’re bound to find something.”

Darcy looks up at Professor Lupin, who smiles weakly at her. But no one else gets any time to speak, as Gemma and Carla run towards Darcy and Emily. They all smile awkwardly, and Professor Lupin nods to Hermione, motioning towards the Great Hall. “Come, Hermione,” he says, following her towards the rest of the school, already seated at their House tables. “Let’s leave them to talk. The feast will get your mind off of Buckbeak…”

As soon as Lupin and Hermione are out of earshot, Carla nearly bursts into tears. “Darcy, we’re so sorry!” she cries, grabbing Darcy’s hands and squeezing. Darcy can’t help but to smile. “We were going to meet you — honest! Professor McGonagall sent a letter home to my parents and they’re going to be _furious_ — oh, I’m so sorry! I hope you didn’t think we just abandoned you…”

Blushing slightly, Darcy pulls her hand away from Carla. She had thought that, though finds it hard to admit with one of her best friends crying in front of her. Gemma looks equally apologetic, and Emily shifts uncomfortably at Carla’s side. Part of Darcy feels so stupid that she had been so angry, so disappointed her friends hadn’t come to see her, but she should have known — she should have known that something was wrong when her friends didn’t show up at all. “It’s all right,” Darcy mutters, giving Carla a small shrug. “There’ll be another Hogsmeade trip. We can all go then… if McGonagall feels it’s safe enough to go without a teacher, anyway…”

“Just promise that, if you have to bring a teacher next time, you’ll bring Hagrid,” Emily pleads, not unkindly. “Though, with all this about Buckbeak, I’m not sure he’ll be such great company.”

The four of them walk towards the Great Hall, hovering over the threshold to the Great Hall. “We want to make it up to you somehow,” Gemma grins. “After forcing you to be alone with Professor Lupin — you must have had a  _ dreadful _ time —”

“Tell her, Gemma,” Carla interrupts, a smile breaking out across her face, clinging to Gemma’s arm. 

“This Friday night, we’re going to take over our old bathroom again,” Gemma explains. “We’ll invite a bunch of people — anyone you want.”

The prospect of a party pushes Buckbeak from Darcy’s mind and lifts her spirits for the entire week, so that Friday night, Darcy and Emily sneak down to their preferred empty bathroom underneath the Invisibility Cloak, dropping in a secluded shadowy spot behind a suit of armor just outside. The corridor is completely quiet, and when Darcy knocks three times on the door, Carla opens it to greet them. There are already quite a few people inside — Oliver Wood, still sweating and flushed from Quidditch practice, as well as Darcy and Emily’s other dorm mates — Julia, Darcy’s favorite, dirty-blonde hair braided immaculately and thick-rimmed glasses sitting on the tip of her nose; Delilah, heavy-set and pink-cheeked; and Sarah, her thick hair coming down to her chin, sipping from a makeshift glass. Darcy sees Carla’s other Hufflepuff friends, Donna and Tina, who raise a glass to both Darcy and Emily as they sit in the elongated bath, where most of the girls sit, clad in their underwear. Gemma’s invited two of her Slytherin friends — a couple, consisting of a girl with honey blonde hair and her boyfriend, a long necked and long nosed boy. 

Gemma herself, is wandering about the bathroom, refilling peoples’ cups with a bottle of wine in one hand and firewhiskey in the other, a cigarette between her lips. She takes a long drag of it while filling Oliver’s cup and nodding towards the door, leaving him behind with a cloud of smoke circling his head. 

“Thought you’d never come,” Gemma murmurs, approaching Darcy and Emily. “What are we drinking tonight, ladies?”

“Whatever you’ve got,” Emily answers, grabbing her wand from her belt and waving it at a few empty glasses across the bathroom. Two glasses fly through the air towards them, and Gemma pours wine into Emily’s cup, firewhiskey into Darcy’s. 

Darcy takes the cigarette from Gemma’s lips. “Shit’ll kill you, you know,” she says, taking the last drag off the cigarette before putting it out on the ground. 

Gemma only beams at her, watching Darcy exhale the smoke through her nose. “What better way to disappoint my parents than to kill myself with something Muggle-made?” she laughs. Gemma sets down the bottles of alcohol, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a soft pack of cigarettes. She takes two cigarettes out and tucks one behind Darcy’s ear and then Emily’s. 

“I see Carla — come on,” Emily whispers in Darcy’s ear. It’s hard to miss Carla, laughing with her friends in the bathtub, clutching a thin glass of champagne. Emily places a hand on Darcy’s arm before leaving her with Gemma.

“I hope you know how truly sorry we are,” Gemma tells Darcy again, for the hundredth time this week. “Emily thought you’d rather spend time with Lupin than us, but of course, I convinced her otherwise with my incredibly diplomacy skills, and as soon as she agreed to go back and have lunch with you two, McGonagall found us.” Both of them chuckle for a moment. “Did Emily tell you that McGonagall actually pulled on her ear?”

Darcy smiles broadly. “She’s not the only one.” Dramatically and loudly, Darcy explains what had happened after McGonagall found her wandering Hogsmeade alone, without Lupin. Gemma cackles at the thought. “Thought she was going to rip my ear off.” Darcy takes a sip of her firewhiskey, eyes scanning the crowd. “Professor Lupin thought it was funny.”

“Anyone with a sense of humor would have thought that was funny,” Gemma replies with a snort. She suddenly turns to Darcy, grabbing the cigarette from behind her ear and lighting it up. Gemma takes a quick pull, and then passes it to Darcy. “Emily says you’ve been spending extra amounts of quality time with our dear Professor Lupin.”

Darcy chooses her words carefully, holding the cigarette to her lips. “He’s kind to me,” she says, her voice low. She gives Gemma a sideways look, expecting Gemma to be looking at her with raised eyebrows, with an incredulous and teasing expression, but Gemma only smiles innocently, waiting for Darcy to continue. “Gentle and understanding — he’s clever and —” Darcy takes another pull on the cigarette, staring off past Gemma, “he looks at me like I’m —”

“Oh, my god,” Gemma interrupts, clutching Darcy’s upper arm and squeezing hard before letting go again. “You’re disgusting — you  _ love  _ Professor Lupin —”

“ _ No _ ,” Darcy hisses, her face flushing a deep scarlet. She has to admit, however, that she’s glad she slipped up in front of Gemma instead of Emily. Gemma doesn’t press Darcy, but looks at her with a smile Darcy wishes she’d wipe off her face. “No, I don’t — I know he’s my teacher.”

“Right,” Gemma replies, finishing their cigarette and then refilling Darcy’s glass to the brim with firewhiskey. “Why don’t you go talk to the boy your age over there who came for you and you only?” Gemma nods towards Oliver Wood, standing alone against the wall, averting his eyes from the gaggle of girls only half-dressed in the bathtub. 

Darcy and Emily exchange a quick glance from across the bathroom. Emily’s already shed her clothes and slipped into the warm bath water beside Carla. Looking back at Gemma, who gives her an encouraging nod, Darcy makes her decision and, feeling bad for Oliver — standing quite alone — decides to walk over to him, drink in hand. Oliver sees her coming right away, standing up straight and putting on his best smile. Even here, in this bathroom, with his face still red from practice and his hair tousled and still a little damp with sweat, Darcy can’t help but to notice how handsome he looks while disheveled. Darcy finishes the rest of her firewhiskey, and she waits until the burning in her throat subsides before doing anything. Gemma refills her glass once more before Darcy walks away.

She leans against the wall next to Oliver, who’s looking curiously at her. “You weren’t at practice tonight,” he notes, a small smile appearing on his face. 

She isn’t sure if it’s the firewhiskey or if his smile is just that contagious, but Darcy smiles back at him all the same. They both take a drink, and Darcy’s eyes examine his face closely. “You noticed,” she teases. “I thought I’d take a night off. You should too, Oliver. Harry barely has time to finish his homework lately.”

“Is it your sole purpose in life to chastise me about Quidditch practices?” Oliver asks, turning his body to face Darcy. “Every practice makes us a better team and every practice will bring us closer to the Quidditch Cup. Don’t tell me you don’t want us to win the Cup?” He sounds almost desperate, as if not wanting to win the Quidditch Cup is something criminal.

“Of course I want to win the Cup,” she laughs, shaking her head. “And you will, I have no doubt about that. You’ve got the best team I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re making me blush,” Oliver jokes. 

Darcy smiles at him. “Come join the party, Oliver.”

Oliver follows Darcy over to the bath. In one fluid movement, she pulls her sweater over her head and kicks off her pants, sliding into the water beside Emily. Oliver follows suit, his entire face pink as the other girls giggle at the sight of him in just his underwear. He keeps his eyes fixed on Darcy as he joins her, and she wraps an arm around his bicep, squeezing gently to reassure him. 

The girls, Oliver, and the Slytherin boy get drunker and drunker, and as more cigarettes are passed around and smoked, a stale stench fills the air, stinging their eyes. They talk of Quidditch, where Oliver and Gemma get into a heated argument about the upcoming match — while Gemma only teases Oliver, Oliver gets the maniacal glint in his eyes that is all too familiar to Darcy, and she ends up having to calm him down after Gemma pushes him past his breaking point. Emily makes everyone laugh by recounting her Hogsmeade story — Emily acts the part of Professor McGonagall, tugging on Darcy’s ear who is supposed to be playing the part of Emily. Emily tugs a little too sharply on Darcy’s already sore earlobe, and when Darcy shrieks, everyone erupts with loud and obnoxious laughter. Carla takes her first pull of a cigarette and coughs so hard she spits up a little on her clothes. Instead of flushing like Darcy had expected, she bursts out into laughter, and everyone else follows her.

Emily and Darcy don’t speak much afterwards, but exchange knowing looks, clink their glasses together prior to taking any other shots, and occasionally nuzzle close together. To know that Emily holds no grudge about her spending time with Professor Lupin only makes Darcy love her friend more. And at that single thought, that single fleeting thought, Professor Lupin invades her privacy and finds his way into her mind. Darcy feels herself go warm at the thought of him, and she sinks lower into the water, her head buzzing. 

“Are you all right, Darcy?”

Darcy looks to her right, to Oliver Wood. He’s drunker than she’s seen him in a while — eyes heavy and droopy, cheeks a bright red, sweating, his hair sticking up all over the place. If only his hair was slightly longer, a little more wavy — if only the patchy stubble on his face was darker and more evenly dispersed — if only his lips looked as soft — Darcy stares at him, breathing heavily. To escape the crowded bathroom unnoticed would be near impossible, and then Darcy couldn’t possibly tell anyone where she’d gone — she doesn’t even know if Lupin would let her into his apartments smelling like whiskey and smoke. But he wouldn’t turn her away, would he?

She swallows the lump in her throat, running a hand through her hair. “Oliver,” she whispers, and he leans in closer to her. “Want to go somewhere?”

Alcohol coursing through her, taking her over, Darcy grabs Oliver’s hand and the two of them sneak out of the bathtub, dressing themselves quickly. Only Emily, Carla, and Gemma seem to notice them leave the bathroom, and Darcy’s glad to see all three of them smiling, winking at Darcy as she closes the door behind them. Alone in the empty corridor, Oliver pulls her down the dark corridor, stopping at the first door he sees. Darcy stumbles along behind him, opening the door and peering inside a broom closet. 

Darcy and Oliver look at each other for a moment, then he very awkwardly and very clumsily lifts her, carrying her into the dark broom closet and closing the door with his foot. Privately, she’s quite glad he’s led her into a broom closet instead of a classroom, as the total darkness makes it easier to kiss him; though his kisses are still sloppy, wet, and hurried, it’s much easier to pretend it isn’t Oliver Wood she’s kissing when she can’t see him. However, without any light source, it makes for a very uncomfortable time, and Darcy wonders if they would have had a better time in a toilet stall. 

Oliver pushes Darcy back against the wall too hard, and the back of her head smacks against the stone wall, causing her to cry out in pain. When Oliver leans in to kiss her again, their teeth clack and they both inhale sharply, before Oliver tries again a little slower this time. He tries to pull her sweater back over her head, but it sticks to her wet body, and he gives it a sharp tug over her head, pulling a handful of her hair with it. Holding his hands up to apologize, Darcy slips down the wall, the stone scratching her back. He twists and turns with her legs wrapped around his waist, and it makes her so dizzy that bile rises in the back of her throat, but she suppresses the urge to vomit all over him.

“Sorry — oh —”

“It’s fine — just pull them down —”

“Shit —”

“ _ Oliver _ — hurry  _ up  _ —”

“What did I just touch?” Oliver’s voice is shrill and he pulls his hand away from where it had been on her shoulder. Darcy freezes, tensing for a moment, remembering the scars on her shoulder. For just a second, for less than a second, her heart sinks at the fact that Oliver had drawn away from them so quickly. 

“It’s nothing,” she replies gently, knowing that Professor Lupin would never draw away from her with such disgust. “I just — have some scars there —”

Yet Oliver makes sure to keep his hand far away from them for the rest of the time.

For the tenth time since she’s been in the broom closet with Oliver, Darcy blesses the darkness. The feel of his rough stubble on her skin makes her shiver, he growls in her ear incoherently, slurring his words together, though she’s sure she hears ‘Quidditch’ and ‘Cup’ incredibly enough. She lets Oliver touch her wherever he wants, and she closes her eyes, thankful no one can see her blushing as he thrusts in and out of her up against a disgusting and slimy wall. Darcy’s hands find his broad shoulders, and she glides a hand across his chest — he’s too burly, too muscular, too firm to be Professor Lupin. 

_ I shouldn’t think that _ , she tells herself, but she can’t help it — the thoughts come anyway, filling her mind, making the entire experience  _ better _ . 

“ _ You chose the one teacher who wants to fuck you _ ,” Gemma had told her just last week at breakfast. She’d only been joking, of course — or had she? It’s not so ridiculous that someone would want her, right? Darcy tries to imagine Professor Lupin lying her back on his bed, climbing overtop of her and kissing her so hard that she’s not like to ever forget his kisses —

_ BAM. BAM. BAM. _

The knocks on the broom closet door startles them both so badly, they jump together. Darcy digs her fingernails into Oliver’s shoulders as he almost drops her to the floor. Oliver stands still for a moment, waiting inside of her, and Darcy holds her breath. Had they been too loud? She doesn’t think so, but everything happened so quickly that she isn’t really sure what had happened at all — all she knows is that her clothes are strewn on the floor in the darkness. 

_ BAM. BAM. BAM.  _ “Dressed and out, you two!”

“Oh —” Darcy drops to the ground, scrambling for her clothes on her hands and knees, but everything hits her at once — the alcohol, the sound of the voice on the other side of the door, knowing what she’s been caught doing after curfew. Fighting the vomit rising again in her throat, Darcy feels around for any article of clothing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck —”

“ _ Now _ !”

_ Not now, _ she pleads with herself,  _ not now, not with this aching in my core  _ — Darcy pulls her pants on, struggling to get them up her damp legs —  _ not after what I’d just imagined  _ — Darcy finds her sweater and forces herself into it —  _ not now, not now, not now  _ —

Oliver is the one to wrench the door open. Darcy can’t look up, can’t meet the eyes of Lupin. She prepares herself for him to explode, for his face to twist into something resembling rage, but it never comes. Lupin only sighs exasperatedly and steps out of the way so they have room to leave. “Go,” he says in a very dangerous tone. “Both of you, back to Gryffindor Tower. I’ve already sent everyone else back to their dormitories, so do not think of returning to the bathroom.”

“Are — are you going to give us a detention?” Oliver asks, extremely red-faced now. He looks down at Darcy, who slowly gets to her feet, fixing her hair. 

“That depends on how quickly you make it back to your dormitory, Oliver,” Lupin replies. 

Oliver wastes no time; he speeds past Lupin without muttering good-bye to Darcy. As he rounds the corner, Darcy looks up into Lupin’s face and is met with an unreadable expression. She clears her throat, flattens her sweater, tries to ignore everything she’d just pictured — “I suppose I’ll be heading back to my dormitory now,” she says quietly, trying to slip past Lupin. “Excuse me —”

Lupin grabs her arm to stop her. Her chest heaves beneath her sweater, and all she wants is to pull him into the broom closet with her. She sways on the spot for a moment, and Lupin notices quickly. “You’ve been drinking.”

She nods, knowing it would be stupid to lie now. “Yes.”

He pauses, releasing her arm. “Go. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Talk about what?” Darcy asks, smiling nervously. “You’re not going to seriously punish me and not Oliver, are you?”

Lupin crosses his arms across his chest and licks his lips. “I am not going to punish you,” he tells her. “But I would like to remind you that I now have a map in my possession that shows me where every person is in this castle at all times. It would be foolish to continue like this.”

Darcy blushes furiously, having forgotten that Lupin had the map. She hadn’t even thought for a moment that he’d know how to work it. “We were just having a bit of fun,” she tells him meekly. 

“A bit of fun?” Lupin repeats incredulously. “Several of your friends are already in severe enough trouble with Professor McGonagall because of alcohol related reasons, and I thought you’d have known better than to encourage something like this which could possibly result in someone being suspended or expelled so close to the end of their time here at Hogwarts. And so help me — if I ever find you in a broom closet with that boy again —” Lupin breaks off suddenly, looking everywhere but at Darcy. 

“You’ll what?” Darcy asks, hoping he’ll finish his statement. She smiles at him as his cheeks turn slightly pink. “What will you do?”

“Go back to your dormitory, Darcy.” 

“What will you do?” she says again, taking a step towards him. 

Lupin takes a step backwards, shaking his head. “Darcy,” he replies, firmly this time. “Go back to your dormitory and we can talk tomorrow.”

They look at each other for a long time. “I could use an escort,” she whispers, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Seven years you’ve been here,” Lupin answers, turning to leave her standing there. “I think you can find your way back easy enough. Good night, love.”


	42. Chapter 42

“Oh, Darcy —! I tried to warn you, honest, but I didn’t know where you were! I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble — I had to walk all the way back here with a bottle of firewhiskey down my pants — it’s very warm, by the way — and when Oliver came back without you, I thought — he said he didn’t get a detention, but — you didn’t — you didn’t get in too much trouble, did you?”

Darcy stands before Emily with wide eyes, waiting for her to finish her drunken rant. The common room is empty save for Oliver Wood, who is seated on the sofa by the fireplace, looking at Darcy apologetically. His brown hair stands up in the back where Darcy’s fingers had combed through it, and his cheeks are flushed. “No,” Darcy answers, smiling nervously at both Emily and Oliver. “I didn’t get in trouble. None of you got detentions, did you?”

“No,” Emily answers, looking relieved. “Lupin let us all go. He asked me where you were, but I didn’t say anything — I mean, I told him I didn’t know where you’d gone, only that you’d gone with Oliver, and he just told us all to go and rushed off to find you.” She pats Darcy’s arms, squeezes her hands, fixes her messy hair, sighing heavily all the while. “It was a stupid idea to have a party tonight — I know people have been talking about it and I should have known that a teacher had caught wind of what was happening —”

“It’s all right,” Darcy says, trying her best to sound reassuring, but she can hear herself slurring. Though trying to hide it from her friends, Darcy’s quite shaken after the recent events, glancing over Emily’s shoulder at Oliver every so often. He watches them with tight lips, and Darcy offers him a small smile, feeling her stomach turn at the thought of what they’d just done — at the thought of what Lupin had caught them doing. “We got lucky, I suppose. McGonagall would have expelled us on the spot. And she likely would have written to Mr. Weasley about finding me in a broom closet with a boy — no offense, Oliver.”

Oliver smiles weakly, but Emily looks nervous. “You don’t think Professor Lupin would tell McGonagall, do you? I mean — he wouldn’t — would he? Not when we’re so close to finishing our last year?”

At this, Oliver rises slowly from his seat. “You don’t think —” he hesitates, his face draining of all color, looking about to throw up. “You don’t think McGonagall would ban me from Quidditch, do you?”

Emily and Oliver look at Darcy pleadingly. Darcy stammers, unsure of what to tell them. Would Lupin tell McGonagall? Would he go to Professor Sprout, as well? And Snape? Darcy has a hard time imagining Lupin telling Snape that several of his students were out drinking past curfew. “No,” Darcy tells them, only half-confident in her answer. “I don’t think he’ll tell anyone.”

“Maybe we should —” Emily considers her words, pausing as if the next word out of her mouth is painful. “ _ Apologize? _ ”

Darcy scrunches her nose, tilting her head slightly. “Apologize for what? For being caught? I’m sorry, Emily, but I don’t think that apologizing will get us very far.”

“We should at least explain ourselves,” Emily continues, beginning to pace back and forth in front of Darcy. She folds her arms across her chest, deep in thought. “Come on, Darcy, he  _ likes _ you! More than he likes either of us — and if Oliver were to walk up to him right now, things would not look good for any of us — no offense, Oliver —”

“No, no — you’re right,” Oliver says sadly. He moves closer to the girls, and Darcy feels so sorry for him, she almost gathers him in her arms. “I’m finished. I’m going to have put in actual work now in Defense classes, and I really can’t have anymore distractions with this match coming up —”

“Look, if Lupin does tell McGonagall, I’m finished, too,” Emily says quickly, beginning to panic. “After what happened in Hogsmeade, she’s not going to be happy with me. I cannot be expelled, do you understand me?” Emily grabs Darcy’s arms and shakes her. “I  _ cannot _ be expelled! We  _ have _ to go talk to him — we  _ have _ to beg him not to tell anyone — Darcy,  _ you _ need to talk to him.”

Darcy pauses, her eyebrows knitting together. “I’m not doing your dirty work! If you have something to say to Professor Lupin, then you can say it yourself. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be right beside you.” Darcy answers, pushing Emily off of her. Then Darcy looks at Oliver again, groaning. “Maybe you should stay behind, though, no offense, Oliver —”

Oliver frowns, sighing and nodding. 

“If Professor Lupin will listen to anyone, it’s you,” Emily persists. Oliver steps up to Emily’s side, nodding his approval furiously. “You’re our one hope right now, Darcy, and you’re really not going to help us?”

“ _ Fine!  _ Fine, I’ll help — I’ll talk to him. He said we could talk tomorrow, so first thing after breakfast, all right? I promise. No one will be getting expelled. Hopefully.”

“Or banned from Quidditch,” Oliver adds quickly. 

Darcy shoots him an exasperated look. “Or banned from Quidditch.”

“And you have to apologize for Carla and Gemma, as well,” Emily says again.

“Gemma can apologize herself,” Darcy snaps. “She’s a big girl.”

“Do you really want Gemma to apologize?” Emily snorts. “I know she’s our friend, but she’d only make things worse.” Emily stands up straight and inhales deeply, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands. She looks at Darcy with red-rimmed eyes, then looks at Oliver. “I’m going to bed. I feel like shit.” 

Leaving Oliver and Darcy alone in the common room, Darcy hears the door to her dormitory close. She looks down at her feet, wrapping her arms around her. Oliver digs his hands deep into his pockets, clearing his throat and catching Darcy’s attention. His encounter with Lupin seems to have sobered him up and there’s a great deal of sighing before he finally speaks to her. “I’m sorry about tonight,” he mutters. “I hope Lupin didn’t give you a hard time.”

Darcy shrugs her shoulders and smiles weakly. “No,” she replies, almost too quickly. “No, it was fine. I had a good time.” She wonders briefly is Lupin is watching the map again to see if everyone’s returned to their common room, and her heart begins to race at the thought of Lupin studying her dot and Oliver’s in the common room — waiting to see if anything is going to happen. Darcy senses it before it happens, however; Oliver leans in slowly, hesitating and looking into her eyes before kissing the corner of her mouth. When he pulls away, Darcy looks at the fire, forcing herself to smile. “Goodnight, Oliver.”

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, Darcy doesn’t fail to notice Gemma’s absence from the Slytherin table, and Carla’s from the Hufflepuff. This strikes her as odd, and she glances up at the teachers’ table, hoping to get a hint of what happened. Professor Sprout looks cheerful as ever, and Darcy thinks that, had Lupin told her about three Hufflepuffs out of bed past curfew and drinking in a bathroom, she probably wouldn’t look so cheerful. And when Darcy looks at Professor Snape, sour as ever, she can’t quite get a read on him. Professor Lupin keeps his eyes on his plate, loading it with food as Darcy sits in between Emily and Harry.

All thoughts of talking with Professor Lupin are pushed the back of her mind, however, when a fluffy, gray owl comes flying through the open window with the rest of the mail owls, and Errol soars right over her, dropping a letter in her lap and catching a wing on Ron’s face. Ron yelps across the table and Errol falls into his cereal, splashing it everywhere. “You bloody bird —” he mutters, swearing under his breath as Hermione helps mop up the mess. 

Max comes in a few seconds later with the day’s newspaper, and he at least has the decency to perch on her shoulder for a moment to nuzzle into her face. While she greatly appreciates the affectionate nature of her owl, she’s unable to open the letter Errol had brought her, as Max makes sure no part of her face is left untouched by feathers. After squirming and spitting feathers out of her mouth, Emily tries to coerce Max off of Darcy with a juicy sausage speared on the end of her fork. It works incredibly, but only for a second — Max snatches the sausage off Emily’s fork and flies off to the teachers’ table, flying circles around Professor McGonagall’s pointed hat before settling himself in between her and Professor Lupin.

Darcy and Emily eye Max warily, the letter still clasped tight in Darcy’s hands. Just as she thinks all is well and she begins to open the envelope, there’s a gasp from the teachers’ table. Darcy looks up just in time to see Max pecking at Lupin’s fingers like worms as he tries to grab his fork off the table. Lupin points his bleeding finger at Max; Darcy can’t hear what he’s saying, but he looks to be speaking firmly to Darcy’s owl.

Emily holds her head in her hands, groaning. “Darcy, your stupid owl is going to get us into even more trouble,” she murmurs. Emily rubs her temples and sighs loudly, seemingly accepting her fate as she returns to her breakfast, defeated and irritable.

“Max!” Darcy hisses, her eyes wide. Max, who has returned to pecking Professor Lupin’s fingers again, looks up at the sound of Darcy’s voice. She glances around quickly and is relieved that not many people are paying attention to the scene. Darcy gives Max the most serious face she can muster, holds out her fingers just as Professor Lupin had, and whispers urgently, “Max, get back here right  _ now _ !”

Lupin holds up his hand to examine his bleeding fingers and Darcy gives him an apologetic look.  _ Sorry _ , she mouths to him. Lupin gives her a small smile, pressing his napkin to the small cuts on his fingers to staunch the bleeding. Max takes one last look at Lupin and flutters back to Darcy, landing directly on top of her breakfast plate. She allows him to nuzzle once more into her chest, and as she opens the envelope to read the letter, she murmurs to her owl: “You leave Professor Lupin alone, you hear me?” But Max shows no signs that he has heard her, only nips the tip of her nose affectionately before taking off through the window again.

Darcy pulls out the piece of parchment within, watching Max until he’s out of sight. Emily reads the letter over her shoulder, as does Harry. 

_ Darcy  _ —

_ I wanted to follow up on our last conversation. I hope you’ve given my offer some thought, and I eagerly await your answer. If you could send your reply back with your own owl, I’d greatly appreciate it  _ —  _ I’m not sure how many journeys Errol has left in him.  _

_ I hope you are well, and if you should need anything, please let me know. Tell my children I love them.  _

_ Mr. Weasley _

“What are you going to tell him?” Harry asks in her ear. 

She looks at her brother, pursing her lips. “I’ll have to think about it,” she admits, folding the letter back up and tucking it in her pocket. “I’ve kind of — er, haven’t really thought about it lately, actually —”

“Darcy —” Emily hisses, making her jump. “Darcy, he’s leaving — go now —”

And sure enough, Professor Lupin is sweeping by them as they speak. He doesn’t look over his shoulder at Darcy, and she frowns. Taking a long look at Emily, Darcy gives a resigned sigh and gets to her feet, ruffling Harry’s hair before she starts to make her way through the Great Hall. Students are starting to finish and leave, and Darcy pushes through them, trying to catch up to Lupin, who just crosses the threshold. In a few long strides, Darcy catches up to him and cries, “Professor Lupin!”

Lupin turns around in the middle of the corridor, holding his hands behind his back, waiting for Darcy to approach. “Darcy.”

She looks around at the students now bustling around them, ignoring their presence. From behind the open doors of the Great Hall, she sees Emily’s face peering around them. “I have to talk to you,” she says quietly. Darcy is uncomfortably aware of the many students pressing closer to them. “Could we go somewhere private?”

Considering her, Lupin looks Darcy up and down and then nods. “Come,” he utters. Lupin moves towards the staircase, beckoning for Darcy to follow, and when she falls in step with him again, Lupin quickens his pace. They reach the third floor easily enough, ahead of the sleepy students, and when they turn down another corridor, Darcy feels Lupin’s fingertips graze the small of her back. He opens the door of his classroom and holds it open for Darcy, and he follows her into his office. Lupin shuts the door behind them both, moving to his desk and picking up a thick book from a stack. “Is this private enough?” Lupin asks her, glancing towards the wall where the hidden door is.

“Oh —” Darcy chuckles awkwardly, running a hand through her hair. “This is — it’s not like that. This is fine.”

Lupin takes the book over to a bookshelf against the wall, and he slides it in between two old and dusty books. Without looking at her, he continues to put the books from his desk back on the shelf, very slowly. “Let me guess,” he says, his tone not at all the friendly and cheerful tone it usually is, but Darcy thinks he sounds very, very slightly amused. “You’re here to attempt to charm your way out of punishment, yes?”

Darcy blushes. “Well —”

“Darcy, as charming as I find you, I’ve been telling you all year that flattery will get you nowhere,” he interrupts. “I meant it, you know.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” Darcy replies quickly. Lupin still doesn’t look at her, but she continues anyway. “Emily and Oliver are afraid you’ve told McGonagall. Emily thinks she’s going to be expelled and Oliver thinks that he’ll be banned from Quidditch —”

“I haven’t told Professor McGonagall.”

Darcy purses her lips, wishing he’d stop putting the books away. He does it so incredibly slowly, she notices, as if he’s prolonging it, as if he’s  _ trying _ very hard indeed to avoid looking at her. She doesn’t really blame him — after what he’d caught her doing, Darcy can see how he might feel slightly uncomfortable. Regardless, she continues still. “Please, Professor, I will take full responsibility — please — Emily has worked so hard these past seven years and she can’t be expelled — they’ll never let her into the Ministry — and despite what you may think about Oliver, he’s a phenomenal Keeper and we don’t have another one to play in the match — Gryffindor will have to forfeit —” Darcy breaks off, frustrated about having to talk to his back. “It was my fault — and Oliver was only there because of me and it was my idea —”

“Your idea?” Lupin repeats, turning around to face her for the first time. He places his hands on his desk, taking a deep breath before looking into her eyes. She expects Lupin to shout at her, but Darcy is surprised at his level tone. “What were you thinking, Darcy? Wandering the castle after curfew? All of these extra security measures have been places on the castle to protect Harry and you, and you both continually choose to disregard these rules, with no thought of your own safety, nor the safety of your friends. Had Sirius Black been in the castle last night, Oliver Wood alone wouldn’t have been able to protect you —”

Darcy snorts. “I don’t need Oliver Wood’s protection,” she cuts in, feeling anger rising inside of her. “Sirius Black wasn’t in the castle. Don’t act like you never snuck out when you were at school — don’t act like you never got drunk after a long week of classes — don’t act like you never snogged in a broom closet —”

“Careful, Darcy,” Lupin warns her, quieting her immediately. He stands up straight, not taking his eyes off her. “There was a lot more going on in that broom closet than —” Lupin stops, clenches his jaw and thinks for a moment, then continues. “What I did or did not do while I was at school doesn’t matter. I want to know what was going through your head when you decided that roaming dark corridors after curfew — drunk, I might add — might be a good idea.”

_ You, _ she thinks,  _ I was thinking of you.  _ But does she dare tell him that now? If Lupin were to know what was really going through her mind, would that be enough to get her off whatever punishment Lupin had in mind for her and her friends? Or would it only be an embarrassing admission of her crush on him — would it make it difficult for her to look Lupin in the eyes ever again? Darcy stares at him, lips tight so nothing shameful comes tumbling out of her mouth. Lupin had certainly seemed angry —  _ disgruntled _ , perhaps is a better word — and he had seemed to be wanting to say something, but he never did — was he jealous? Jealous of catching her with Oliver Wood? Or just angry and ashamed that he’d caught his best friend’s daughter in the middle of something so scandalous? 

But Darcy can’t tell him the truth, and her face burns red. “I don’t know, Professor,” she rasps, looking down at her feet. “I’m sorry.”

Lupin is quiet for a moment, and he leans in over his desk, incredulous. “You don’t know?”

“I’d been drinking,” she explains, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“If I ever catch you or your friends after curfew again, I will have no choice but to tell your Heads of Houses, understood?” he asks her softly. Darcy nods, looking up into his face again. “And do not let me ever find you in a broom closet with Oliver Wood again.”

“Yes, sir.”

A very awkward silence follows. Lupin runs a hand down his face, combing his hair out of his face. “Now, if that’s all —?”

“I’m sorry about Max,” she says suddenly, seeing the cuts on his hands. “He’s usually a very good owl.”

Lupin holds up his hand, giving a small chuckle. “It’s nothing,” he answers, offering Darcy a small smile. “Don’t worry.”

Clearing her throat, Darcy remembers something and, since she’s already there in front of him… “There is one more thing, Professor,” she adds, seating herself in the chair opposite him. Reaching in her pocket, Darcy pulls out Mr. Weasley’s letter and smooths it out on the desk. “Mr. Weasley wrote me about the job.”

He smiles down at the letter, than at Darcy. “I was wondering when you’d bring that up.” Lupin’s eyes scan the parchment quickly. “Thoughts?”

Darcy thinks carefully. “I think I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore.”


	43. Chapter 43

“You should ask if you’d be allowed to leave on weekends, to visit us,” Emily suggests, as Darcy scribbles furiously on a piece of parchment. Lupin replaces her ink bottle as it runs low, and Darcy mutters her thanks to him. “Or see if we could visit you here at the castle. Then we could see Carla, as well.”

Carla nods eagerly, looking over Darcy’s shoulder as she finishes writing. “I like that idea.”

Crowded around the cluttered desk in Lupin’s office, with him on one side of the desk and Darcy, Emily, Gemma, and Carla on the other side, the five of them read what Darcy’s already written. Her palms and fingers are flecked with black ink, and she reads over the few questions on the parchment, twirling her quill with her fingers. It was Lupin who had decided a list of questions might be a good idea, that way she could get all of her answers in one sitting. Darcy had brought the idea to breakfast the following day, asking her friends to join her in Professor Lupin's office to discuss everything. Emily had been extremely hesitant about joining Lupin in his office, and she also had voiced her opinions about the Hogwarts job quite loudly in the next few days, insisting that the Ministry job was clearly the better option.

But Emily was unable to refuse Darcy’s plea for help thinking up questions, so the four of them had brought their lunches to Lupin’s office a later that week, and Lupin had provided them with tea (and, in Darcy’s case, hot cocoa). The now empty plates are stacked on the ground by Lupin’s feet, and they all sip their drinks, thinking hard. Lupin dips his own quill into the shared ink bottle, hastily grading some homework, looking up every so often to offer an opinion or share a suggestion.

“I want Carla, Harry, Hermione, and Ron to be able to visit me whenever they want, in the privacy of my own room,” Darcy adds quickly, dipping her quill in the ink and scribbling it underneath her previous question. 

“Forgive me, but — is this a list of demands or a list of questions?” Lupin asks, looking up, and Gemma chuckles. Darcy looks up at him, but when she sees he’s smiling, she can only smile back. Lupin returns to the homework piled in front of him. “You’ll want to ask how much the salary is, of course.”

“Not like you could compare it with the job Mr. Weasley offered you,” Carla shrugs. “That one isn’t paid.”

Darcy puts her quill down, her hand beginning to cramp. She gives her hand a few shakes. “That’s not that important to me,” she replies, chancing a glance up at Lupin again. She notices his mouth open and close, as if to say something, but after a moment he decides to keep it shut and nods at her. Darcy picks up the parchment, scanning it over once more and clearing her throat. “All right — I think this is a pretty good list. The most important thing is that I can have visitors, and I’d like to know how long I’ll have to be coming back. After Dumbledore gives me the answers, I think I’ll be able to make a decision.”

Emily sighs loudly, and everyone turns to look at her. “Come on, Darcy, you’re not seriously considering this?” she asks quietly, as if trying to block Professor Lupin out of their conversation. “You have an offer to work at the Ministry of Magic, and you would turn that down to come back and work under  _ Snape _ ?”

“Yeah, but Harry’s here,” Darcy retorts, turning to look at Carla with a smile. “And Carla will be here.” Carla beams back a her. Darcy’s eyes find Lupin’s face —  _ he’ll be here.  _

“Em, leave her alone,” Gemma says, hopping off from her seat on the corner of Lupin’s desk and waving an impatient hand at Emily. “It’s a good idea to make a list. Darcy, you could be really good at this. You’re really good at Potions, and even Snape can’t deny that. Whatever you choose, I’m with you.”

“I’m just saying,” Emily continues, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just because you choose to go into the Ministry doesn’t mean you’ll never see Harry again. I know you, Darcy — I know that the only reason you’re even considering coming back is because it’s another year you’ll be able to spend with him. And what about the following year? You’re just going to keep coming back until Harry’s out of Hogwarts?”

Carla shifts uncomfortably from her seat on Darcy’s left. “You know, Darcy, if you don’t want either of these jobs, no one is forcing you to take them,” she says. “Don’t feel pressured into doing something you’ll regret for the rest of your life. You should be choosing a career that you’ll love forever.”

“She’s right,” Lupin cuts in, and every eye goes to him again. His eyes, however, are fixed on Darcy. “You are free to do whatever you want. I’ve told you before, you could do anything you want, anything to put your mind to — don’t feel that these two jobs are the only ones you’ll ever be able to get.”

Emily scrunches her nose, sitting up straighter in her chair. “Darcy’s wanted to go into the Ministry of Magic since she was eleven years old,” she snaps at Lupin. He raises his eyebrows at her, leaning back in his seat to listen to her. “This is her chance, and I would hate to see her miss out on this opportunity just because she was given the option of coming back to Hogwarts and —”

“I’m right here,” Darcy grumbles. “You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here.”

“Fine.” Emily turns in her seat to face Darcy. “Darcy, I think you should take the Ministry job.”

“Emily, you’ve only told me that a hundred times already,” she answers, rolling up her parchment. “I’ll make a decision once I have all the information that I need.”

“Ever since I can remember, we’ve had this dream of going into the Ministry,” Emily protests. “Don’t you remember?”

“That was your dream, not mine. It was never my dream — it was only a fantasy,” Darcy sighs. “I’m not like you, Emily. I can’t just go do whatever I want to.”

“What’s stopping you? And  _ don’t _ say Harry, because you know he would be happy for you —”

“Emily.” Lupin’s voice cuts her off, and Emily quiets immediately, giving him a withering stare, as if shocked that he’s had the audacity to interrupt her. Lupin doesn’t falter, only smiles politely at her. “Darcy is going to make an educated decision with help from you — whether or not she goes into the Ministry, or stays here at Hogwarts, or decides to pursue something else altogether, it is her decision and her decision alone. As her friend, you should support her in whatever she does decide.”

“He’s right, Emily,” Gemma says, and Carla nods in agreement. “You can’t force Darcy to pick whatever career appeals to you the most.”

Darcy scoffs. “I’m  _ right here _ !” 

There’s an awkward silence, and when Darcy looks at Emily again, her cheeks are bright red. And then, Emily stands up and her chair screeches against the floor. She marches over the door and turns at the threshold, looking everyone in the eyes. Finally, Emily’s eyes fall on Carla, who seems to know what’s coming as she rises from her chair to her feet. “Let’s go, Carla —”

“I’m coming,” Carla sighs. “But I’ve got Care of Magical Creatures coming up, so I can’t be long —”

Emily and Carla leave the office, shutting the door behind her. Darcy can’t hear their voices from in the classroom, but her heart is heavy as she hears Emily slam the classroom door. “Don’t worry about it, Darcy,” Gemma says quietly, slipping into Emily’s now empty seat and squeezing Darcy’s shoulder gently. “You know how she is. She’ll forget all about it tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Darcy answers, turning back to look at Gemma and Lupin. “Thanks for standing up for me, but next time, maybe it’d be best for you both to not say anything.”

Lupin scratches at the scruff on his face. “Has Emily always taken such an —  _ interest _ — in your future?” he asks warily.

“Emily thinks she’s Darcy’s mother,” Gemma answers for her. “It’s always been that way. I remember second year, Emily had packed a second trunk full of clothes for Darcy — outfits she’d picked out for her. And I think Emily was in charge of picking what classes Darcy was going to take after they took their O.W.L.’s.”

Darcy nods in confirmation. “That’s true. She wanted us to take the same classes.”

“And you let her?” Lupin presses. “Why don’t you stand up to her?”

“Well,” Darcy says carefully, stroking her chin. “You just saw what happens when you stand up to her. Besides, she ended up picking all the classes I wanted to take anyway.”

Lupin looks at Darcy apologetically. “I didn’t mean to offend anyone,” he explains. “On the contrary, I only wanted to keep the peace. I hope she doesn’t hold it against me.”

“She will,” Gemma laughs. Lupin furrows his brow, looking at her. “Emily doesn’t like any man who doesn’t worship the ground that she walks on, so you’ll likely never get on her good side ever again. If you’re looking to earn some favor, though, next time she says something, just nod and agree with her. Her birthday’s coming up, as well, so a solid ‘happy birthday’ may appease her.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Lupin says, smiling. He studies Gemma’s face for a moment, his smile fading. “You look very much like your father, you know.”

“You know my father?” Gemma asks, looking partially shocked and partially amused. Lupin’s hard face seems to give her his answer. “Not many teachers speak to me about my parents.” She grins slyly, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her seat. “You fought in the war, didn’t you?”

“I did.” 

“Go on, then,” Gemma shrugs, not looking discouraged. “You can say what you want to say. It’s not like I’ve never heard it before.”

Lupin holds his hand on the top of his desk, the half graded pile of homework forgotten. “I recognized your last name on the first day of classes, but you’ve surprised me,” he admits, and Gemma laughs out loud again. “Besides, I trust Darcy’s judgement. You seem to have chosen your own path in life.”

Gemma hums in reply, getting to her feet and stretching. “No offense, but you really shouldn’t trust Darcy’s judgement, Professor,” Gemma says, combing her fingers through Darcy’s hair affectionately. “Her judgement is the worst out of all of us.” This makes Darcy smile and Gemma takes a few steps towards the door, suddenly noticing that Darcy isn’t behind her. “It’s almost time for Ancient Runes — I’ll wait for you outside the classroom. Thanks for having us for lunch, Professor Lupin.”

He nods in acknowledgement and watches as the closes the door of his office behind her. Darcy can hear Gemma leap the few stairs from his office to the classroom, and when the footsteps become too faint to hear, she looks up at Lupin again. He stands, gathering the empty teacups from his desk and placing them on a small table near the back of the office. Darcy gets to her feet awkwardly, unsure of what to say to him. She wrings the parchment in her hands and smiles at him. Lupin flashes her a toothy grin.

“You never told me you fought in the war,” Darcy says, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Lupin straightens the piles of homework on his desk, raising an eyebrow and looking very much like a young boy again. “You never asked,” he teases. “Yes, I fought in the war. My finest hour. Your parents fought alongside me, and many others.”

A sense of pride washes over her, and she can’t hide the wide smile that crosses her face. “Maybe we could talk about it sometime.”

“Of course,” Lupin answers. He pauses, ushering her towards the door of his office. With his hand on the handle, he looks at Darcy again. “If you’re not busy tonight —?”

“Yes,” Darcy says, almost too quickly. “Dinner sounds wonderful.” And when Lupin opens the door for her, she makes her way down the few stone steps. The door doesn’t shut until she’s halfway across the classroom. 

Gemma is still waiting outside of Lupin’s classroom, leaning up against the wall, when Darcy walks out. At the sight of Darcy, the Slytherin boy Gemma’s been talking to bids her goodbye. They start the walk together towards the Ancient Runes classroom, the corridors relatively cleared out by now. Gemma keeps up as Darcy takes the stairs two at a time.

“You know,” Gemma says thoughtfully as they make their way up the second flight of steps. “I have to say — I wish we could have had Professor Lupin all seven years. He’s got to be the only teacher in this school to never say anything terrible about my parents. Except Snape, of course, but what he does or doesn’t say doesn’t really matter.” She gives Darcy a sideways look. “He’s never said anything about my family while you two were having your dinners, has he?”

Darcy smiles, looping her arm around Gemma’s, pulling her along. “No,” she replies honestly. “Never. I had no idea that he was familiar with your family.”

“Almost anyone raised in the wizarding world is familiar with my family,” Gemma snorts. “You’ve just been sheltered, is all. You still have so much to learn.”

Thinking back, Darcy realizes she’s never know much about Gemma. Not that Gemma’s incredibly secretive — she’ll always answer a question honestly, but has never given out information freely. Of course, there had always been rumors, but Gemma had always brushed them off with a pleasant smile and an impatient wave of her hand. In truth, she’d been Emily’s friend first; Emily was the one to bring Gemma around Darcy more often, and Darcy’s had a soft spot for Gemma ever since. 

Gemma had, of course, instantly recognized Darcy’s name when Emily introduced them first year. There had been questions that night, and Gemma had given Darcy the vague truth about her own life when Darcy had asked questions in return. Emily had mediated, stopping Gemma after her questions had gotten too personal, but Gemma hadn’t continued to push Darcy for answers, hadn’t overstepped her boundaries again. Gemma had always been good to her in return for absolutely nothing. Despite her being in Slytherin, Gemma had proved herself to be a fiercely loyal friend and could always be relied upon to provide a good laugh. 

“He’s got a nice ass, right?” Gemma asks, very seriously, but the corners of her lips turn upwards at Darcy’s reaction. “Don’t act like you weren’t looking when he was making tea — I made sure I wasn’t the only one looking. And I’ll let you in on a little secret —”

Darcy narrows her eyes. “What?”

Gemma smiles in earnest. “I was the reason he dropped the first teacup. I may or may not have used some magic to move it closer to the edge of the table,” she whispers in Darcy’s ear, giggling all the while. “I just wanted a few more seconds of the view.”

Darcy can’t help but chortle with Gemma, but her cheeks burn with embarrassment at being caught. “I wasn’t staring at —”

“You were,” Gemma says flatly, raising her eyebrows almost to her hairline. “Don’t even lie — I saw you, saw the  _ hunger _ in your eyes —”

“There was no  _ hunger _ in my eyes —”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gemma answers, rolling her eyes. As they approach the classroom, Emily isn’t outside waiting for them. “Listen, don’t worry about what happened in there. Emily’s just upset you wanted to get a man’s opinion on something.”

“It’s more than that. I’ll tell you some other time — I don’t think she quite likes him as much as we do, especially after what just happened,” Darcy tries to explain quickly, before they enter their class. “Professor Lupin has given me really great advice, and I only wanted to hear everyone’s advice all at once.”

“You know Emily. To her, that’s like the ultimate betrayal. But don’t worry — I’ll smooth things over with her and I’ll distract her from the fact that you’re having dinner again with him tonight.”

Darcy tenses, avoiding the knowing look Gemma gives her. “Er — thanks —”

“Twice this week already,” Gemma says playfully. “And don’t you have Patronus lessons tonight, as well?”

Pursing her lips, Darcy places her hand on the doorknob, pushing it open as the bell rings to signal the start of lessons. “Shut up.”

* * *

“Sorry I don’t have a wizard’s chess set,” Lupin mutters, moving one of his bishops a few squares across the board, taking one of Darcy’s pawns. “I’ve had this board since I was a young boy.”

Darcy taps her chin, thinking, and then moves her knight to take Lupin’s bishop. “Sometimes it’s nice when the pieces are quiet,” she grins, looking up at him. “I hate playing against Ron. I’m pretty sure his pieces cheat for him.”

Lupin laughs, considering the placement of his pieces. His touches the top of his queen, then pulls his hand away quickly, running a hand through his hair. After a moment of sitting quite still in deep thought, Lupin slides one of his pawns forward, which Darcy scoops with her rook. “You’re good at this,” he says, eyes scanning the board. 

“No, I’m not,” Darcy answers, catching his attention as her queen moves across the board to trap his king. “Checkmate.” She leans back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest and grinning smugly. “I know you’ve been letting me win. I’m terrible at chess.”

He doesn’t admit to anything, but also doesn’t meet her eyes when he smiles. 

After their fourth chess match (which he’d let her win — again), Darcy and Lupin retire to the sofa in front of the fire. Her feet rest on the small table in front of her, and Darcy leans back into the cushions, her head turned towards Lupin. His arm brushes against her’s whenever he shifts slightly, which he seems to be doing often. Up close, she can see the signs of an approaching full moon, still a fair few days away, but it still makes each line one his face stand out more prominently, aging him another five years it seems. Lupin’s eyes are heavy, dark shadows forming underneath and contrasting heavily with his pale skin. When he turns to look at her, his mouth forms a tired smile. 

“Can I ask you something?” Lupin says quietly, not looking away from her. 

“Of course.”

“Has Emily always been like that towards you?” 

Darcy chuckles, turning back towards the fire. Lupin shifts next to her again, and Darcy leans into him, privately very glad he doesn’t move away. “I know what you’re thinking — Emily’s stubborn and hard-headed and opinionated, but she’s always been so kind to me. She only wants the best for me, and it’s always been like that.” She takes a deep breath and thinks back to when she and Emily had first become friends — quickly, in the first few days of being at Hogwarts, they’d become inseparable. Darcy turns her body to face Lupin, still leaning against his arm. “Everything I have — who I am — I owe to Emily. She shared her clothes with me when I came to her in Petunia’s old things, she shared her home with me and told me things she’d never told anyone. She taught me everything she knew about the wizarding world, consoled me when I was upset, held me after a nightmare, laughed with me when I was happy. Before her, I only had Harry. I was no one before I met Emily.”

Lupin listens intently, shifting once more. Darcy feels his hand rub briefly against her own, and without thinking, she reaches for it. Instead of grabbing her hand, Lupin brushes his fingers against her’s lightly, lacing and unlacing them, his skin warm to the touch. Darcy feels her heart start to race and, for just a moment, she almost forgets what they’ve just been speaking of. 

“She wants me to go into the Ministry, yes,” Darcy finishes, distracted by his touch. “But I know that whatever I decide, she’ll support me. That’s why I just let her fawn over me — she just wants to feel in control for a little while. We’ve spent seven years of our lives together constantly, and after this year, everything’s going to change.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Lupin answers, glancing down at their hands. “You’ll still be able to see each other.”

Darcy looks at him carefully, leaning back into the cushions again and staring into the fire. “What about you? Will I ever see you again after this year? Or will you disappear for another thirteen years, only to show up again when I’m least expecting it?”

He takes a long time to answer, clenching his jaw and looking away from her. Lupin pulls his hand away from her, holding it in his lap and clearing his throat. “It’s only February,” he murmurs. “By the end of the year, you’ll be so distracted by the prospect of starting your new career that I suddenly won’t seem so interesting to you.” He grabs Darcy’s hand again, raising it closer to his face so he can read her watch, then lets go. “It’s already been two hours. Aren’t you tired of me yet?”

She smiles up at him. “Not yet.”

Lupin smiles down at her. “Harry should be here soon.”

“Yes.” She considers him, her eyes trailing from his face down his long body and back up again. “Do you want to know something?”

He nods.

“You asked me what I thinking, going off with Oliver that night, do you remember?”

“I remember.” Lupin looks almost suspiciously at her. 

“Do you really want to know what I was thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Lupin replies slowly. “Do I?”

“I was thinking —”

“Darcy? Professor Lupin?” Harry’s voice sounds faintly from the other side of the wall. Darcy breaks off at the sound of her name, and both she and Lupin hesitate before getting to their feet, putting some distance between themselves. 

Darcy is the one to open the door leading into Lupin’s office. Harry looks around, bewildered, at the sight of Darcy climbing over the threshold of a hidden door, closely followed by Lupin. She gives her brother an excited smile, raising her eyebrows. “Sorry we’re late,” she tells him, “I had to use the bathroom.”

Lupin grabs a briefcase from the corner of his office and it rattles as soon as he lifts it into the air. “Shall we get started?”


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG it's been a year since I started this story and HOW is that even possible??

On the way back from Lupin’s classroom, Darcy and Harry take their time, talking aimlessly about things they haven’t had time to discuss. Harry tells Darcy the complete story about how Snape had come to find the Marauder’s Map, and what had happened when Snape tried to reveal its secrets. Darcy laughs out loud upon hearing that a piece of parchment had insulted Snape not once, but four separate times, and her laughter rings up and down the corridors, making Harry smile. He also tells her what Lupin had said to him, which seems to her to be more or less the same thing Lupin had said to Darcy when he’d returned to his apartments with the Marauder’s Map. Darcy fills Harry in about what had happened when Lupin found out she, as well, had known about the map, but regretfully informs him that she hadn’t been lucky enough to see anything insulting about Snape written on it.

Darcy then tells Harry about Mr. Weasley sending her a letter expecting an answer to his job offer, and explains what she, Lupin, and her friends had done earlier that day in regards to Dumbledore’s offer. She recalls how Emily had been so angry, how she’d stormed out with Carla, and how Lupin and Gemma had a very short, vague conversation about her parents. However, Harry doesn’t know anymore about Gemma than Darcy does, so he’s unable to answer all the unanswered questions about her family that have left Darcy curious. And then, with a sideways look at Harry, Darcy slowly opens up to him about the time she’s been spending with Lupin (leaving out the parts that involve any physical contact and also the fact that every word that comes out of his mouth makes her heart race). Within no time, with the words tumbling out of her, Darcy tells Harry quietly about Lupin reading to her, playing chess with him, eating dinner by the fire, and taking walks on the grounds. It feels so incredibly good to tell someone that, when they reach the portrait hole, she asks Harry if he wants to make one more loop around the school, to which he agrees eagerly. Too late, Darcy remembers that Lupin has the map, but doubts that he studies it all hours of the night — she pushes the thought to the back of her mind.

“I like him,” Harry admits, as the Fat Lady attempts to call them back to the portrait hole. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, rounding a corner with Darcy and putting the Fat Lady behind him. “Where’s he been these past years? Why didn’t he write to us?”

“I asked that same question,” Darcy says, and Harry looks quickly at her, eyebrows raised. “He said he didn’t want to write because we didn’t know who he was.”

“He could have explained.”

Darcy smiles down at Harry. “That’s what I said, too.” She considers, just for a very brief moment, telling Harry how she really feels about Lupin, just to see what he would say. Darcy looks around, to make sure no one is near, and opens her mouth to speak, but finds that she can’t say the words. Closing her mouth again, Darcy sighs heavily. “Let’s hurry up —”

The common room is quite empty when they enter, but Emily, Hermione, and Ron are seated at the best chairs by the fire. All three of them look up when the portrait hole opens, and Emily gets to her feet, crossing the room to Darcy. Harry joins his friends and he speaks quietly to them, quickly busying himself with an open book lying open on the table.

“I’m sorry — Darcy, I’m so sorry,” Emily breathes, holding her arms around her tightly. “I know I may have been a little — overbearing — and I’m so sorry if I’ve made you feel like that.”

“It’s all right,” Darcy smiles, squeezing Emily’s arm reassuringly. “I know you mean well. I appreciate you coming to lunch today.”

The mention of lunch in Lupin’s office gives Emily slight discomfort. She shifts from foot to foot for a moment, staring at her shoes and apparently deep in thought. “You know I’ll do anything for you,” she replies finally, laughing to herself, still looking at the ground. “Almost anything, anyway. There’s a few things I wouldn’t do.” Emily looks up at Darcy and sighs, lowering her arms to her sides and shaking her head, as if she’s going to regret what she’s about to say. “He just — he makes me angry. I don’t know why you insisted we had to have lunch with him.”

Darcy flushes. “Because I value his opinion, just as I value yours, Carla’s, and Gemma’s,” Darcy replies firmly. “I wanted to hear what he had to say, and I think he had some good advice. I thought you liked him — you seemed quite fond of him.”

Emily rubs her temples, as if the thought of Lupin gives her a headache. When she moves her hand away, Darcy notices her deep, blue eyes seem colder than usual. “Not as fond of him as you are,” Emily says, and they both look at each other for a moment, the only sound the crackling of the flames in the hearth. “I don’t like it. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be spending so much time alone with him. You’re going to get yourselves into trouble, and you can’t afford to be in trouble, Darcy.”

Scoffing, Darcy shakes her head, but she can feel bile rising in the back of her throat. Emily is so confident in her words, so certain that she’s in the right — is it possible she knows something? Is it possible that Emily had come across them doing something? Darcy and Lupin had been careful to keep their distracted touches to a minimum in front of others, and their few kisses had been in the privacy of his own room, but even so — Emily could have heard a whispered compliment when they’d been careless, or seen fingers brushing against the small of Darcy’s back as they turned a corner. “Professor Lupin is my friend,” Darcy says again, trying to keep her anger at bay. She tries to find answers on Emily’s face, tries to determine whether or not lying would be stupid, but Emily’s face is set and unreadable. “I respect what he has to say just as much as I respect what you have to say, Emily. He didn’t say anything hurtful or rude to you — all he wanted was to make it clear that it was not about what you want, but what I want.”

Emily’s cheeks turn slightly pink, just as they had when she’d stormed out of Lupin’s office. “I know that,” she snaps. “I don’t know why he thought I needed reminded. I know perfectly well that it’s your decision in the end.”

“Emily,” Darcy says again, and instead of feeling anger, she fights the urge to laugh now. “Why does that upset you so much?”

“Because he thinks he knows you so well, doesn’t he?” Emily hisses, and Darcy’s brow furrows. There is venom in Emily’s tone that Darcy’s rarely heard before, and the idea that Lupin could possibly get her so worked up over a few sentences in incredible. “He thinks he knows what’s best for you, doesn’t he? He thinks he knows you better than I do? Better than Gemma or Carla do?” She runs her hands through her hair. “You know very well why I don’t like him —”

“And you also know very well that you’re worrying over nothing —”

“Hagrid told me about you and Lupin holding hands on Christmas,” Emily suddenly says, and as soon as the words leave her mouth, she seems relieved. Darcy stiffens, but knows that if that’s the worst thing Emily has against them, Darcy can breathe for a moment. “He said he was feeding the thestrals and you two were holding hands near the edge of the forest.”

Darcy can’t think of a single thing to say. Her eyes flick to the corner of the room, where she’s forgotten that Harry, Hermione, and Ron are still sitting. Harry looks at Darcy with a blank expression, and Hermione’s eyebrows are raised to her hairline as she looks from Darcy to Emily and back again. Ron looks horrified, but quickly rearranges his face when Darcy looks at him. “Harry,” Darcy mutters. “Go upstairs,  _ now. _ ”

“But Darcy, I —”

“ _ Now, _ ” she repeats in her most dangerous voice. “All three of you.”

Hermione pulls the boys along and they slowly climb the spiral staircase. Darcy hears two doors shut, but she doesn’t really think Harry, Hermione, and Ron have gone inside their dormitories. Regardless, Emily presses on. “You told me nothing was going on,” she continues, her voice a little quieter than before, giving Darcy the impression she’s aware that the others are listening. 

Darcy is quiet for a long time, shaking her head more vigorously. “Nothing is going on,” she replies, ashamed of her lie. “That was nothing — you don’t understand — Hagrid doesn’t understand —”

“Understand what, exactly?” Emily asks, hurt briefly flashing in her eyes. When Darcy doesn’t answer, Emily fills the silence. “You want to come back to Hogwarts because he’ll be here, is that it?”

“No,” Darcy answers quickly. “No, I want to come back because Harry will be here and I won’t have to stay with the Dursleys all year.” It’s only partially a lie — of course, Harry is the main reason the Hogwarts job is incredibly tempting, and the idea that she could escape the Dursleys for almost an entire year is the cherry on top — but to be back at Hogwarts, not as a student anymore, and be able to spend time with Lupin without that hanging over them is also a reason she’s eager to return.

Emily clenches her jaw, thinking hard again, as if decided whether or not to say what she really thinks. But Darcy knows Emily, and knows that what she’s going to say will not be kind. “Have you even given thought to what I said?” she asks again, voice even quieter than before. “You are Darcy Potter — beautiful and famous and influential — and you know what it’s like when people meet you for the first time. Professor Lupin took an interest in you from the day you met on the train, and —”

“No,” Darcy replies, knowing exactly where Emily is going with this. “He took an interest in me because I was his best friend’s daughter, but he knows I am so much more than that now. He treats me like an equal, like I’m worth something, like I’m not just Darcy Potter.”

“You don’t need his reassurance to feel validated,” Emily reminds her. “Have you forgotten what he is, Darcy? Who he is?”

Darcy stumbles over her words, her heart sinking. How could Emily know? If Emily had found out, wouldn’t she have told Darcy? But Darcy remembers that Emily’s seen the scars, knows that Darcy had been lying about what happened. “I — I haven’t —”

“He’s your teacher, Darcy,” Emily says, and Darcy’s breath hitches. If she’d known what Lupin really is, Emily would have mentioned it already, Darcy thinks. “He’s your teacher, old enough to be your father — what would your own father say if he knew what was happening? If he knew what his best friend was doing with his daughter behind closed doors?”

“You mean holding hands?” Darcy growls. “You’re asking me what my father would say if he knew we’d held hands for a few seconds?” She takes a step closer to Emily, rage flowing through her. “In case you’ve forgotten, my father — my parents — are dead, so they don’t have much to say about it at all. You have absolutely no regard for how I feel about him — you don’t care that he cares about me. You don’t care that he listens to what I have to say. You don’t care that he sees me as Darcy instead of Darcy Potter — is it so wrong for me to enjoy the presence of someone who cares about me?”

Emily shakes her head, frowning, and Darcy knows that nothing she can say will change Emily’s mind.

“He’s someone I knew, years ago,” Darcy says, and she can feel tears starting to well up painfully in her eyes. She fights them back, but her eyes shine in the glow of the fire. “He is good to me, and expects nothing in return but my friendship. I have craved that, Emily, craved the genuine affection that he shows me. I have craved a family for so long, and he has been that for me. He has filled that gap I’ve had for so long.”

“Oh, my god,” Emily breathes, eyebrows knitting together. “You love him.”

Darcy flushes even redder, not having realized what she’d really been saying. Emily’s tone makes Darcy uneasy — when Gemma had teased it, it had been a joke, and she’d sounded playful and drunk when she’d said it. But Emily’s tone is accusing and harsh, disbelieving. “No,” Darcy answers, desperately searching for an answer that will appease Emily. “I mean — not like that, Emily —”

“I thought I was your family,” Emily whispers, her voice softer and gentler now. “For seven years, it’s been us — and nothing ever got in the way of that. I took care of you, Darcy.”

“I know you did.”

“And you would choose to be with Lupin, than to be with me?”

“I’m not — Emily, I’m not choosing him over you,” Darcy explains, her stomach churning. “I have to come back, for Harry. Nothing has to change between us.” 

“Everything is going to change,” Emily replies, her eyes now shining with tears, as well. “It won’t be like this anymore. I thought this was our dream — I thought going into the Ministry was our dream.”

“It was my dream,” Darcy tells her, shrugging her shoulders sadly and taking a moment to compose herself. “That’s all it ever was, really. But I won’t abandon Harry — you know that.”

“When are you going to start thinking about yourself?” Emily asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you ever going to let yourself be happy? Harry will be fine without you — you’ll be fine without Harry —”

Darcy forcibly remembers one of her and Lupin’s conversation a few months ago, when they’d spoken of almost this exact same thing, though she remembers Lupin had been a bit gentler about it. She tells Emily the same thing she’d told Lupin, with more confidence behind her statement this time — “Who would I be without Harry?”

When Darcy starts up the spiral staircase to her dormitory, she catches sight of someone with dark, untidy hair running fast up the steps.

* * *

“Go on in, Potter. He’s ready for you.”

“Thanks, Professor.”

Dumbledore’s study door creaks open, alerting him to her presence. He’s standing at his desk, a smile upon his face, his eyes twinkling. He motions for her to sit in the chair opposite him, and Darcy does as Professor McGonagall closes the door to his office. “I was wondering when I’d get the chance to speak with you,” Dumbledore starts, seating himself in his own throne-like chair. “I assume you’re here to turn down my offer?”

“No, sir,” Darcy answers, smiling weakly. “I just have a couple of questions about — what the job will entail and other small details, Professor. I made a list.” She reaches into her jacket pocket, pulling out the rolled up piece of parchment. With shaky hands, she unrolls it, wishing she’d accepted Harry’s offer to come along with her. “Do you mind?”

Dumbledore seems highly amused, and nods his consent. “Go on.”

“I was wondering — well, if I’m to come back —” she says, clearing her throat and glancing up into Dumbledore’s face. “Would it be too much to ask — I’d like Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Carla to be able to visit me. That’s the most important thing, sir.”

“That doesn’t seem an unreasonable request,” Dumbledore says right away. “I see no reason they shouldn’t be able to visit you, as long as it’s before curfew, of course.”

“Of course, sir,” Darcy sighs, flashing him a bright smile over the top of her parchment. She continues down her list, asking questions about the details of the job, how much her salary would be, how much freedom she’d be granted while at Hogwarts. Dumbledore answers each question cheerfully, with answers that make her heart considerably lighter, considering what she’d previously thought of the job. However, Dumbledore makes it seem a wonderful choice, less a prison and more of the home she knows and loves. And then finally, Darcy reaches the question she’s saved for last, and she looks in Dumbledore’s eyes while asking it. “How long will I have to be his assistant, sir?”

Dumbledore tilts his head slightly. “Are you looking to become a fully fledged teacher at Hogwarts? That will take years of training, Darcy, and until such a position opens up —”

“That’s not what I mean, Professor,” she says, regretting interrupting Dumbledore, but he doesn’t seem irritated by her lack of courtesy. “I mean — how long will I have to continue coming back to Hogwarts?”

He considers her, sitting back in his chair and touching the ends of his fingers together. “What are you hoping my answer will be?” Dumbledore smiles at her again. “You can be honest with me, Darcy. I want you to leave my office with all the information you need to be to make an informed decision.”

Darcy hesitates, reluctant to tell Dumbledore how she really feels. “I don’t want to be rude, sir,” she says quickly. “But I — I don’t want to be a hostage.”

“I hope you would never feel that way here at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore tells her, frowning slightly. “If you were to return, you would be granted all the freedoms that every teacher here is granted. You will never be my hostage, Darcy, I hope you believe me.”

She looks at him for a long time, wondering briefly if he’ll bring up Lupin. But he doesn’t. Dumbledore seems to be waiting for Darcy to talk, never taking his eyes off her. His intense gaze is something that’s always made her feel incredibly small and incredibly vulnerable. She looks down into her lap, at the unrolled piece of parchment with all of her questions written down. How foolish she’d been to worry so much — how foolish she’d been to think coming back to Hogwarts, to Harry, would be a bad idea. She smiles in spite of herself, rolling up the parchment and tucking it back into her pocket. 

“Have you written to Mr. Weasley yet?” Dumbledore asks, with a knowing smile. “Have you already told him you don’t want the job?”

“No, sir,” Darcy admits with a sheepish grin. “I’ve been trying to think of a polite way of rejecting his offer.”

Dumbledore stands up and holds out his hand. “You’ll be a wonderful assistant, I have no doubt about that.”

Darcy shakes his hand with a firm grip, nodding. 

“Harry will be very happy.”

Two hours later, Darcy is coaxing Max down from one of the shadowy corners in the Owlery, a note in her hand. Max flies down eagerly, ruffling his feathers and rubbing her face. Darcy chuckles, stroking his feathers and scratching underneath his beak. He flies circles around her head, hooting excitedly and irritating the rest of the owls. Max lands on her shoulder finally, talons digging into her skin, and she attempts to tie the note to Mr. Weasley to Max’s skinny leg. He wriggles and squirms, kicking his leg out to keep the string from being wrapped around his leg, but at the sound of heavy footsteps, Max settles and Darcy’s able to attach the note. 

When a tall figure appears just outside the door, Darcy looks up and does a double take — Lupin’s standing in the doorway, his cheeks flushed from a mixture of the crisp weather and the climb up to the Owlery. He leans against the doorway for a minute, watching Darcy and Max. “Harry told me you’d be up here,” Lupin says, smiling. “You accepted Dumbledore’s offer, then? Or does that letter send good tidings?”

“Take this to Mr. Weasley, Max,” she murmurs to her owl, and he flies out of the open window after nipping at her earlobe affectionately. Darcy turns back to Lupin. “Starting next autumn, I will officially be Professor Snape’s lovely assistant.” She gives a dramatic bow and Lupin laughs. His laugh makes Darcy smile in earnest, but her conversation with Emily only a few days ago is still fresh in her mind. “Emily won’t speak to me.”

“Not because of me?”

“A mixture of things,” Darcy shrugs casually, looking out of the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Max beyond the Forbidden Forest, but he’s gone. “Hagrid told her about us holding hands. She’s furious, of course, but more so about my decision to remain with Harry.”

“We’ve been careless.” Lupin approaches her at the wide window, looking down over the grounds and leaning forwards on the railing. “Don’t let her make you feel guilty about your decision,” Lupin tells her. He pauses, looking sideways at her. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’ll be back.”

Darcy looks up at him, examining his face. The brisk wind blows his hair back out of his face, keeps the color in his cheeks. Lupin turns his body to face her, dragging his fingers through his hair. Darcy looks back out towards the grounds again, trying to avoid looking at his face — trying to avoid thinking of what not only Gemma has said, but what Emily has said, as well. She blushes, her cheeks burning. “You’re flattering me.”

“I’m only being honest.”

Darcy takes a minute to picture herself back at Hogwarts as an assistant — as Snape’s assistant. She pictures herself prowling up and down the aisles in the dungeons, peering into cauldrons and smelling potions. She pictures herself sitting at the staff table beside Snape instead of the Gryffindor table. She pictures Harry, Ron, and Hermione sitting in her room by a fire, laughing and relishing the privacy. She pictures herself and Carla together, drinking wine and grading homework while Carla finishes an essay. “I could be good,” Darcy thinks outloud.

“You could be great,” Lupin corrects her. “You  _ will _ be great.”

“I hope I’ll be like you,” she says backing away from the window and away from the biting wind. “Everyone loves you.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“Kind?” Darcy scoffs, rolling her eyes. “'Kind' is a poor way to describe me.”

“You’re right,” Lupin grins, taking a few paces forwards to keep up with her as she makes for the door. “I have a few other words in mind that describe you much better than ‘kind’.” They start to make their way down the stairs slowly, bumping shoulders. “If you’re able to have dinner tonight, I may share one of them with you.”

As much as it excites Darcy, she can’t help but to feel slightly hesitant. “I’m always able, but — I shouldn’t,” she says reluctantly. “Emily will be even more angry.” She knows that avoiding her friends tonight would be foolish. She needs to have the conversation with Harry, especially after what he'd heard, but getting him alone the last two days has been harder than usual, especially with Emily seemingly at his side every time they meet.

Lupin nods. “You should be celebrating with your friends tonight, anyway,” he adds. “Harry will be very excited for you.”

The rest of the walk, neither one of them speak. It’s not a terribly awkward silence, but Darcy wishes he’d fill it with comforting and reassuring words. It isn’t until they reach the entrance hall, where they decide to part ways, that Darcy decides to break the silence herself. “Ask me tomorrow night,” she tells him. “I think I’ll be free tomorrow.”

Lupin looks very seriously at her. “I’m afraid I’ll be terribly busy tomorrow night,” he jokes. “Big stack of homework that I’ve been putting off for an entire week.” They both smile. “Tomorrow night sounds fine, Darcy. Have a good evening — and congratulations, love.”

 


	45. Chapter 45

Darcy tries to get Harry alone that evening, but everywhere he goes, Emily seems to be at his side, along with Ron and Hermione. Darcy waits outside the Great Hall when dinner begins, watching Harry come down the steps with his friends, Emily bringing up the rear. Harry smiles weakly at his sister as he passes her, entering the Great Hall, but doesn’t say anything. As the students filter around her, shuffling her amidst them, Darcy sighs heavily, looking around for a familiar and friendly face. Her heart feels lighter at the sight of two friendly faces coming down the marble staircase together — one of them tall and graceful, dark hair pulled into a high ponytail, and the other, flashing a wide grin with curly hair that bounces with each step she takes.

“Waiting for someone?” Gemma calls out over the heads of the other students. She takes Carla’s arm and drags her towards Darcy, pushing her way through some fifth year Ravenclaws who are taking up space. “You look lost. Have you forgotten where you’re supposed to sit?”

“Gemma,” Darcy breathes, suddenly struck with a sudden thought. She grabs Gemma’s arms, looking in through the doors to where Harry and Emily are sitting side by side. “I need a word with Harry — a private word, but I can’t get him away from Emily.”

Gemma thinks for a moment, turning to Carla and tapping her chin. Her eyes scan the Great Hall, and then Gemma turns around, looking up and down the corridors. “All right,” Gemma says. “Wait here.”

As she strides off into the Great Hall, standing tall and looking important, Darcy and Carla exchange a quick look. “What is she doing?” Carla asks, as Gemma makes her way past Harry and Emily, without even looking at them. “Where is she —?”

Darcy almost laughs out loud as Gemma approaches the staff table, leaning forward and beckoning Professor Lupin to lean in, as well. She whispers something in his ear and he whispers back, tilting his head slightly, finally standing after Gemma nods eagerly. Gemma sweeps back down the Great Hall as Lupin moves slowly towards the Gryffindor table, leaning down to mutter in Harry’s ear this time, and with the same confused look Lupin had just given Gemma, Harry gets to his feet. Lupin leads Harry towards the large oak doors as Gemma appears at Darcy and Carla’s side again. Darcy looks past Harry and Lupin to see Emily watching them warily.

“What did you tell him?” Carla wonders outloud, her eyes on Lupin and Harry.

“I told him Darcy wanted to speak with Harry privately, but to make it look inconspicuous,” Gemma explains, looking immensely proud of herself as Lupin and Harry approach the three girls. She beams at Darcy and Carla. 

“That was... smart,” Carla adds, nodding her approval.

“Thanks. It’s the Slytherin in me.”

Harry gives Darcy an anxious look. “Is everything all right?” 

“Here,” Lupin says, starting up the marble staircase, not bothering to wait for Darcy to answer Harry. “Come with me.”

Darcy, Harry, Gemma, and Carla follow Lupin up the stairs, down a corridor, and he holds the door to his classroom open for them. With a flick of his wand, candles and lamps are lit, making the classroom seem very warm and welcoming, but Lupin continues to lead them up to his office. He lights the candles in here, as well, and starts a fire in the small hearth off to the side. Gemma and Carla wait in the threshold, watching, and Darcy sits down in Lupin’s chair, Harry in the one opposite her. 

“Is this all right?” Lupin asks them both, smiling and raising his eyebrows. “Would you like some food brought up?”

“No, thank you,” Darcy answers, affection surging through her for all of the people crowded in the office. “We won’t be long.”

Lupin hesitates, giving Darcy an encouraging nod. Then he turns on his heels, and waves Gemma and Carla out of the office. “Come on, ladies, let’s leave them,” he says, closing the door behind them. Darcy can hear them shuffling through the classroom, Carla’s laughter, and only when she hears the outside door shut again does she look Harry in the eyes. 

“I took the job,” she says, a weight off her chest. “I accepted Dumbledore’s offer. I’m coming back next year.” In spite of everything, she grins, and Harry tries — but fails miserably — to hide his excitement. Darcy leans back in Lupin’s chair running a hand through her hair. “ _ I’m coming back _ ,” she says again, incredulously. “And Dumbledore said you and Hermione and Ron and Carla can visit me whenever you’d like — as long as you’re not out past curfew —”

“And this is what you want?” Harry asks, the smile fading slightly from his face, looking mildly uncomfortable. Darcy knows he means well and continues to smile. “I mean — are you sure? This is what you  _ really _ want? Because I don’t want you to feel like you have to come back here because of —”

“Harry, I’m not only coming back here because of you,” Darcy says, leaning forward on the desk, her small smile never fading. “Hogwarts is the only true home I’ve ever known and I’d be crazy not to want to come back here. And I am pretty good at Potions…”

Though Harry doesn’t seem entirely convinced. He looks down at his hands, fingers laced together on the desktop. Darcy hopes that her forced grin will bring him some small comfort, but she knows the damage is already done. She curses Emily silently in her head, pressing on, but this time deciding to go about it in a different way.

“You know Emily has never understood what it’s been like for us,” she tells Harry. “You know she’s never fully understood what we’ve been through, how we grew up at Privet Drive. She will never understand the relationship that we have, Harry, but that’s all right — the only people who matter are you and me. We have nothing to prove to her. Let Emily say what she likes — let her say what she thinks, even if she’s wrong. She won’t ever change my mind about this.”

Harry nods very slightly, looking up at his sister. “You don’t have to do this,” he mutters. “You don’t have to come back. If you want to go into the Ministry, then I think you should go.”

Darcy chuckles, exasperated. “I’m not coming back because I feel I have to be here for you,” she repeats, her affection for Harry growing with each passing second. “I’m coming back because I want to be here with you. It’s always been us, and that doesn’t have to change.” When the corners of Harry’s lips turn upwards, Darcy adds, “Unless you’d rather I be far, far away from you? But then who would I fawn over?”

“No,” Harry replies, smiling back in earnest for a moment. “No, I do want you here, if you want to be here. To fawn over someone else would be — Darcy, you can’t betray me like that. But you can’t fawn over me while I’m in class or in front of my friends, and you have to keep Snape in line during classes, and you can’t cry anymore when I get hurt at Quidditch.”

“If you think for a second that Snape will listen to me just because I won’t be a student anymore, then you are sadly mistaken,” Darcy laughs. “No promises about the crying thing, though. It’s in my maternal nature.”

They both laugh together, and Darcy wants nothing more than to sweep Harry up into her arms — Harry, able to make her smile and laugh on the bleakest days. For weeks during previous summer holidays at Privet Drive, Harry had been her salvation. Darcy had been able to get out of bed somedays for one reason and one reason only — to make sure that Harry made it through the day. But Harry’s smile slowly disappears, though not completely. He seems deep in thought, knocking lightly on the top of Lupin’s desk. “Is it true?” he whispers, glancing over his shoulder at the closed door of the office. “What Emily said about you and Professor Lupin?”

Darcy looks at the door, as well, her stomach churning. She trusts Professor Lupin enough to know that he likely wouldn’t be at the door listening, and he certainly wouldn’t allow Carla and Gemma listen in on their private conversation. Darcy sighs heavily, wondering how much of the truth Harry should hear. They’ve always been quite open with each other — Darcy had always spared Harry the gory details about herself and previous boyfriends she’d had in the previous years, but she’d always —  _ always  _ — been honest with him. “Yes,” she answers in a hushed voice. “Yes, we held hands.” Darcy watches Harry carefully for a reaction, an indicator as to how he might take the entire truth, but there isn’t one. “Professor Lupin has been here for me during these past few months when I needed someone. He is a good friend to me, and Harry — I will tell you everything, but you must promise to keep it between us, do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Harry replies eagerly.

“I need you to tell me you understand what could happen to both Professor Lupin and me if this were to get out.”

Harry looks wary. “I know. I understand. I promise, I won’t tell anyone.”

Darcy hesitates, nodding her head and leaning back in her chair. For a split second, Darcy flirts with the idea of telling Harry exactly what Lupin is — after all, that’s really how it all started, she thinks — and telling him what had happened the night she followed Lupin out to the Shrieking Shack. But Darcy’s seen what that knowledge does to Lupin — she has seen the guilt eat away at him — so she decides to leave that piece of information for when Lupin is ready to tell Harry himself. Instead, she slowly recalls how it had started with dinners and innocent flirting, light touches — how she’d been the one to reach for his hand first, how she’d kissed him after he was struck ill, how she’d been the one to initiate everything, making it clear that, if anyone is at fault, she is. Harry listens intently, a blank expression on his face, quite like the one he wore when he’d listened to Darcy and Emily argue. Darcy continues to explain her feelings towards Lupin — explains that she does care for him, that she relishes the time they spend together, relishes the relationship built on mutual understanding and respect — a relationship unlike one she’s ever known. And when she finishes, she feels  _ good _ . A little jittery, but good, and Harry digests all of this information, his cheeks slightly pink, and his silence makes Darcy extremely anxious.

It had all come spilling out of her, everything she’s been thinking these past few months, everything she’s wanted to say to Lupin’s face — she doesn’t know how it seems to impossible to tell Lupin to his face how much she cares for him. She imagines telling him, imagines him looking at her with a toothy smile, as if knowing what she’s going to say, as if trying to make her more nervous. The smile that he reserves for when she blushes, her entire face going red — the smile he reserves for when he decides to toss her a compliment. Darcy could never tell him something so personal and honest while he smiles that stupid smile at her, but with Harry’s expressionless face, it’s much easier to be honest.

Finally, Harry says slowly, “He was mum and dad’s friend.”

“Yes,” Darcy nods. “He is good to me, and to you.”

Harry opens his mouth, but closes it quickly. He thinks for a minute, then continues. “The school year is almost over.”

“It is.”

“After it is,” he says again, his cheeks turning a deeper red instead of pink. Harry looks up into Darcy’s face. “We could be like a family. A proper family.”

Darcy’s heart stops momentarily. Harry’s words take her breath away — the complete and brutal honesty with which he’s just spoken makes her want to cry. “Harry,” she rasps, trying to keep her tears at bay. “We already are a proper family. You and me, that’s all we’ve ever needed.”

Harry nods weakly and Darcy frowns. She wants to believe that’s true, so badly. She wants to believe that she’s not a part of a broken family, that all they ever will need is each other. And very forcibly, and very vividly, Darcy remembers her fifth year again — unwanted, unwelcome memories flooding her. Darcy remembers the wonder she’d felt while staring into the Mirror of Erised, remembers the aching in her heart as she had stared into the faces of her mother and father. She remembers the tears that had come that first night, and for several nights after that — the anger she’d felt at never being able to have the family she’d always craved, the resentment she’d felt towards Emily for having that loving family Darcy never had the chance to have. Darcy knows that she and Harry will never have a proper family — they will never again know the love of a mother and father, never know how to feels to be held in their parents’ arms, never know their mother’s proud sile or their father’s barking laughter.

Tears well painfully in Darcy’s eyes and she’s unable to stop them rolling down her cheeks. She covers her face with her hands, crying silently. Harry watches her for a few moments, and then he stands up and walks around the desk to put a gentle hand on her back. “I love you, Darcy,” he says. Harry bends down to place a kiss on the top of Darcy’s head, and he makes for the door. When he reaches the door, one hand on the handle, he turns around and swallows hard. Darcy lowers her hands to reveal her puffy eyes, and Harry rubs the back of his neck and looks down at his feet. “Bye.”

When the door closes behind Harry, Darcy stands up and begins to pace, running her hands through her hair. Wiping furiously at her tears, Darcy riffles through Lupin’s books on the shelves, pulling an unmarked one off the shelf. The pages are old and ripped in places, ink smudged, and she closes it, putting it back on the shelf. To the side of the bookshelf and through the window, the sun is beginning to set outside over the grounds. Still, at such a beautiful sunset, the tears flow.

Darcy assumes that, when Harry walks into the Great Hall again without her, someone will come looking. Her first thought is Gemma, when she hears the quick footsteps from outside the office door twenty minutes later, but no one knocks. Instead the door is opened right away and Darcy turns to see Lupin in the threshold, slightly breathless. Darcy can’t believe how happy she is to see him — how glad she is that he had not failed to notice her absence in the Great Hall. Lupin closes the door behind him, taking a few steps inside the office. She wipes her face again, trying to hide evidence of tears.

“You’ve been crying,” he says quietly, stopping at his desk and leaning up against it. 

She clears her throat. “Is it too late to change my mind about dinner tonight?”

Lupin stands up straighter. “Never,” he replies, leading her to the hidden door in the wall. Lupin takes his wand out and opens it, waiting for Darcy to enter first. “Did everything go all right with Harry?”

“Everything went fine,” Darcy answers, her voice still shaky. She wraps her arms around her as Lupin closes the door behind them, kneeling in front of the hearth with his wand and hurrying to light a fire. “Everything went more than fine — Harry’s so wonderful, isn’t he?”

“He is.” The fire springs to life in the fireplace and he stands up, brushing his hands together. “By the way — and I’m so sorry, Darcy — but I had not realized you hadn’t told Gemma and Carla about your decision to come back next school year, and I may have let it slip —”

“What did they say?”

“They seemed excited,” Lupin says. As Darcy takes a seat on the sofa, he moves closer to her. “Though I can’t help noticing you don’t seem at all excited for someone who’s just made, what I consider, a very exciting decision.”

Darcy just looks at him, unsure of how to reply. She curls up on the sofa, then stretches out her legs. “Tell me about your family,” she whispers, tilting her head. “Do you still speak to them?”

Lupin’s hand finds his chin, scratching at his rough beard. He looks at Darcy carefully, laughing very softly and nervously. “Is this the conversation we’ll be having?” he asks, and Darcy shrugs. Lupin looks around the room. “Maybe we could get a little more comfortable first. I’ll tell you anything you want, Darcy, but you’ll have to give me a little warning next time before you spring something like this on me.” He smiles at her after seeing the color rise to her cheeks. “Here, stand up, love. You’ll like this.”

Wary, Darcy does as he says. Lupin puts a steady hand on her back, moving her off to the side. With another wave of his wand, the coffee table in front of the fireplace moves to the wall opposite Darcy, opening up a large space. The couch moves a few inches backwards to expand the space. With a sideways look at Darcy, Lupin has a few pillows appear from nowhere, making the space more comfortable. “What is this?” Darcy says, turning to face Lupin as his arm drops from her back to his side. “What are you doing?”

“Do you not like it? I can put it back to the way it was —”

“No, I just mean —” Darcy looks at the inviting space on the floor, surrounded by small pillows and glowing by the firelight. “Professor, I — I really appreciate all that you do for me —”

“There is one more thing,” he grins slyly, slinking towards the small cabinet across the room. “And I fear I will deeply, deeply regret this come morning, but… given the circumstances and the fact that we’re about to have an extremely uncomfortable conversation…” Lupin reaches into the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of brandy and looking curiously at it. 

As he goes to stand, Darcy calls at him, “Could we have wine instead?” Lupin’s brow furrows, and he puts the brandy back into the cabinet, withdrawing a bottle of white wine. “No, the red, please.”

Lupin looks reluctant, but obliges. “I don’t want to know how you know what I’m storing in my own personal liquor cabinet.” He pops the cork using magic and retrieves two glasses, pouring them each half-full. Darcy doesn’t answer him, only smiles shyly as he walks back over to her, holding two glasses in one hand, and the bottle in the other. “I probably really shouldn’t be doing this, but I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures, yes?”

Darcy takes the glass and seats herself on the floor, resting back on the comfortable pillows and stretching her long legs out in front of her. Her eyes still feel heavy and swollen from crying, and when Darcy takes her first sip of wine, it’s almost refreshing. The wine, combined with the roaring fire and the feel of Lupin beside her as he sits down, warms her bones. “You don’t have to tell me about your family if you don’t want to,” she tells him, sipping at her wine. 

“No, I will,” Lupin sighs, mussing up his hair. “I know so much about your family, it’s only right that you should know about mine.” At the mention of Darcy’s family, she covers her face with her hand again, feeling the tears coming again. “Darcy — I’m sorry, are you all right?”

“We’re a broken family,” she cries softly. “I don’t even remember what it’s like to be whole, to have a family — a  _ real _ family who loves me.”

“Darcy, you have a family,” he replies, setting down his glass and holding out his hands. Darcy notices, sees his hesitation and she moves closer, craving the warmth that his arms would bring her. “You have Harry, and friends who love you very much.”

Darcy frowns, taking a long sip from her wine glass and finishing it. She holds the glass out and Lupin refills it, but from the look on his face, it seems like he’s doing it against his better judgement. “I’m sorry I talk so much,” she murmurs, swirling the wine in her glass. “I probably sound so stupid — I mean, I’ve grown up like this and it’s been like this as long as I can remember, but it still hurts.”

“I don’t think anything that you say is stupid,” Lupin retorts, looking at her incredulously. “I think that everything you have to say is important. If you want to tell me, then tell me.”

She considers him, drinking more of her wine. Lupin waits for her to continue. Darcy looks into the fire, leaning into him slightly. “Does it upset you when I talk about them?” she breathes, wiping her cheeks again. “I know that Harry and I look very much like our parents, and I feel awful —”

“You feel awful because you look like your mother?” Lupin asks again, picking his glass up again and draining it. “Darcy, I see a lot of your parents in you and Harry. I see your mother in your eyes and your hair, in your tenacity and ferocity — I see your father in your wit and cleverness. But I’ve told you before and I will tell you again now, when I look at you, I see you first, not your parents.” Lupin refills his glass and holds the bottle up while Darcy finishes her second fill. He pours more into it, sighing when she sniffles. 

“But it doesn’t upset you?”

“No,” Lupin laughs, and Darcy blushes again. She watches him clench his jaw, staring at her, and she moves closer yet again. Lupin drinks again from his glass. He goes to speak, but he does so slowly, as if choosing his words very carefully. “Darcy, you — you have brought me such joy these past few months, and never have I been upset with you for things out of your control. Please stop crying.”

They both finish their wine rather quickly, and Darcy sets her glass to the side. She looks up into his eyes once, moving as close to him as she can. Lupin tenses, allowing her to rest her head on his chest. Darcy clutches his shirt, closing her eyes. She’s surprised that his heart is beating faster than she’d expected instead of a slow and steady drumbeat. Her head is buzzing from the conversation she’d had with Harry, and possibly the wine. Darcy allows the silence to fill her, to calm her and empty her mind, and then Lupin wraps an arm around her, just barely touching her. She sighs contentedly, curling up at his side. 

“My parents died years ago,” Lupin tells her, his fingers gently tracing small circles on her arm. “They were kind people, dedicated, loving — they did the best they could with a son like me.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, tilting her head back to look up into his face. “I had no idea.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he replies, wiping her tears with his free hand. “There’s no way you could have known that.” His heartbeat slows to a steady  _ thump-thump _ again. “What were you going to tell me the other night about you running off with that boy? What were you thinking?”

Darcy’s face turns a bright red, but the wine had given her courage she likely wouldn’t have had elsewise, especially when about to say something incredibly embarrassing. But here, curled up on Lupin’s chest, warm and safe and wanted, Darcy finds it hard to keep anything from him. “You,” she admits, in a meek voice that Lupin barely hears. “I was thinking about you.”

Lupin looks at her, open-mouthed, and instead of saying anything, Lupin kisses her hard on the mouth, tangling his fingers in her hair and holding her tight to him, and Darcy crumbles in his hold. For the first time, Darcy reaches up to comb her own fingers through his disheveled hair, brushing it back out of his face. This only makes him kiss her harder, but only for a few more seconds until he pulls away, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry,” he pants, not letting go of her. “We’ve been drinking —”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Do you feel better now?”

Darcy smiles weakly. “I’m not sure,” she says. “Could we try again before I make a decision?”

Lupin laughs outloud, shaking his head. “Cheeky.” 

They lay in front of the fire for a long time, talking about everything and nothing, holding hands and nuzzled beside each other. They talk about their years at Hogwarts, unable to stop smiling when speaking of her parents. Darcy talks about Harry for a long time, and then tells Lupin about Petunia, Hagrid, Mr. Weasley — all of the important people in her life that have changed her in some way, for better or for worse. The rest of the bottle of wine is long gone soon enough, and their cheeks are flushed, their foreheads slightly damp. Darcy talks for the majority of the time as Lupin listens with a smile on his face, his eyes fixed on her’s as she goes on and on and on. And eventually, as the hours slip by without either of them noticing, Darcy’s eyes grow heavy again. It isn’t long until the fire and Lupin’s voice lull her to sleep, her arm around Lupin’s middle and their legs tangled together, dreaming of blurry faces and soft hands and green eyes. 

“Darcy — Darcy, love — wake up —”

It seems as if she’s only been asleep for five minutes, but when she looks out the lone window and sees the moon high in the sky, Darcy begins to panic. The fire has died down, now only a bunch of red hot embers glowing faintly. She sits up quickly, turning to look at Lupin, and judging by his tired eyes and hair standing up, he’d been asleep, as well. Darcy checks her watch and reads  _ 2:47 _ . “Oh — I am so sorry —” But she would give anything to fall back asleep on his chest, to have Lupin hold her until the sun comes up, and every night after. “It must have been the wine — I drank too quickly, and —”

“Of course,” Lupin agrees, getting to his feet with Darcy. He looks uncomfortable, looking at her. “Darcy, maybe you shouldn’t go back to your dormitory.”

“What?” she blurts out. “You want me to stay here?”

Lupin’s eyes widen. “No, no — not that I — I only meant… it’ll look suspicious if you enter the dormitory so late at night.”

Darcy looks back at him, horrified. “Right,” is all she can manage to say. “Good thinking.” She turns around to leave, humiliated, thankful for the semi-darkness that hides her beet red face.


	46. Chapter 46

Darcy reaches the hospital wing a little after three in the morning. Wide awake, nerves jangling, Darcy’s feet carry her all the way there despite wanting nothing more than to turn around and go back to Lupin. For years, she’d thought there was no better place to sleep than in her four poster here at Hogwarts — after summers at Privet Drive, that’s one of the things she always craved most. But now, now that she knows the feeling of Lupin’s arms around her and holding her close to him, she can’t think of a more comfortable and safe place to be. If she hadn’t been so worried about curfew upon waking, it would have been much more enjoyable — she could have gone back to sleep against his chest and slept until the sun rose in the morning. And to know that months ago, his hands had mutilated and scarred her shoulder permanently — to know that someone who had once done such damage to her could also be so gentle —

“Potter? What are you doing here? I thought I heard the doors — I’m a very light sleeper, you know, just in case something like this happens —” At the sound of the doors closing behind Darcy into the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey comes bustling out of her office in a nightgown, pulling a sweater on around her shoulders. Her gray hair is pulled back into a tight bun, but loose hairs frame her face, making her look very disheveled. She suddenly sniffs like a wild animal and scrunches her nose before pulling back slightly from Darcy and raising her eyebrows. “You’ve been drinking.”

“No, I haven’t,” Darcy says, wondering immediately why she’s even lied. 

Madam Pomfrey gives her a sharp look, but doesn’t press the issue. Instead, she leads Darcy to a cot and pulls the curtains shut. “Will you be having dreams tonight, or no?” Madam Pomfrey asks. She pulls the blankets on the cot back and waits for Darcy to climb in, still fully clothed, but lacking shoes. Once Darcy’s settled in, Madam Pomfrey throws the blankets back over her.

“I’ll take my chances with dreams tonight,” Darcy answers quietly, resting her head against the pillow and closing her eyes, trying to believe that she’s not in the hospital wing but still with Lupin. But Darcy can’t hear the comforting beat of his heart — only silence — and though the pillow is comfortable and soft, she misses the scratchy feel of his sweater against her cheek and the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Madam Pomfrey leaves her, returning to her office. Darcy opens her eyes again at the sound of the door closing, and she stares at her curtains, lit with the moonlight streaming through the tall windows. In a few days, the full moon will rise again, and Lupin will become a monster —  _ no, not a monster, harmless, only for a few hours _ . Her hand absentmindedly finds its way to her shoulder, and through her shirt she fingers the scars underneath. Despite Madam Pomfrey’s hopes that they would shrink a little over time, they’re still the same size they’d been when Snape knitted her flesh back together. Still large, still horrible, still ugly — yet they don’t bother her as much as she had imagined they would. Perhaps it’s because of her fondness for Lupin, but Darcy can’t find it in her heart to be angry with him for giving her such scars.

She closes her eyes again, blocking out the moonlight, trying to think how it had come to this. She wonders, briefly, about what things would be like now if she wasn’t a Potter — Lupin certainly wouldn’t have taken an immediate interest in her, and she in him, and they probably wouldn’t be in this situation. Very rarely does Darcy feel happy to be a Potter, but it’s because of her family name that Lupin’s been able to show her how it feels to be cared for. Emily had always insisted she only needed herself in this world — that Darcy didn’t need anyone to care for her because she was strong and independent, but Darcy would let Lupin care for her as long as he wanted to, for the rest of her life if he wanted to. All Darcy wants, as she drifts off to sleep again, is for Lupin’s arms to be around her, for him to be drawing lazy patterns on her arm, for him to kiss her again in more places than just her mouth…

* * *

The next few weeks seem to fly by with Darcy hardly noticing. She spends much of her time in the library, not only trying to keep up with the immense workload the teachers are starting to set them to prepare them for their N.E.W.T.’s, but also trying to find more information that may help with Buckbeak’s appeal. Comparing notes with Hermione and Ron (and sometimes, to Darcy’s surprise, Emily), Darcy’s quite relieved that they haven’t found much either, as most of the information they had researched had already been given to Hagrid for the trial. Discouraged, Darcy doesn’t work herself so hard looking for anything hippogriff related, and instead busies herself with schoolwork, nearly drowning in it.

None of her teachers congratulate her or bring up the job offer, and Darcy’s quite glad. However, Darcy’s quite sure that Dumbledore’s told Snape about it — Snape seems overall more critical of her potions, correcting her form and chastising Darcy after she adds personal touches to her draughts. But his criticisms of her Potions don’t seem as angry or as condescending — instead, Snape just seems to be making sure she’s grasping the material easily enough, likely because he’d rather not have an ignoramus as an assistant. After finishing a particular healing potion, Snape decides to let the class brew their best potions before starting the new lesson. Darcy brews a perfect batch of Pepper Up Potion, to which Snape gives her full marks and does something very strange with his mouth that Darcy’s never seen before.

When Snape walks away from Darcy, she and Gemma exchange a confused and suspicious glance. “Is my imagination playing tricks on me,” Gemma begins slowly, her eyes following Snape as he stalks around the classroom, “or did you just receive the closest thing to a smile that you’ll ever see on that man’s face?”

Darcy sighs. “I can never look him in the eyes now.”

The worst thing about the following weeks for Darcy is the fact that Emily still refuses to speak with her. On the Monday after Darcy had spent half of the night with Lupin, Darcy had shown up to Defense Against the Dark Arts to find that Emily had switched seats to sit beside Gemma. So, Darcy had to sit beside a Slytherin girl she’d never spoken to before — but Oliver’s partner had offered to switch after a little while, and Defense class isn’t so bad with Oliver beside her. He doodles pictures on the corners of his parchment, amusing ones that made Darcy chuckle, drawing the attention of Professor Lupin and earning her a very serious look. Several times in each class he turns around to catch them whispering to each other, laughing, and Darcy’s cheeks flush red every single time.

Emily does a good enough job of avoiding Darcy, really only having to see her across classrooms during the day and in their dormitory at night. But the girls have been taking extreme care to go to bed at different times, pretending to be asleep when the other enters at night, and Emily wakes before Darcy each morning, going down to breakfast as soon as the food is available and finishing before most of the students are awake. What research Emily has been able to do on Buckbeak is soon being passed directly to Hermione or to Hagrid during meals, and even Carla confides in Darcy that Emily hasn’t been talking much to her and Gemma lately outside of the Great Hall and classes. Darcy feels bad afterwards, knowing that Emily is probably feeling very lonely, and Darcy knows how it feels to be lonely. Darcy makes it a point to let Emily act a fool for a little while longer before trying to make up, however, especially after what had been said in the common room.

Lupin had been right about one thing, however — Gemma and Carla are very excited about Darcy’s decision to return to Hogwarts, and Darcy’s quite relieved after she tells them in the library one day. She also tells them about what Emily had to say, though she leaves out the part about Professor Lupin. Neither of her friends bring it up, and Darcy feels a surge of affection for Emily, who may have spilled her secret to Harry and his friends, but not to Gemma and Carla, who don’t say anything about it. She knows that, if they were to know, they’d say something.

“You should have seen her when Professor Lupin said something about it,” Carla grins, giving Gemma a sideways glance. “I thought she was going to pass out.”

“I wish you’d told us sooner!” Gemma replies quickly. “He caught me off guard, is all. But don’t worry — we won’t reprimand you for telling Professor Lupin before us. If you ask me, I think it’s sweet.”

“What did he say?” Darcy asks, and she feels embarrassed just asking. Gemma smiles at her. “I mean — how did he tell you?”

“He was reaching for conversation,” Gemma teases, sharing a laugh with Carla. “So, of course, we all settled on the one topic we all know so much about —  _ you. _ Professor Lupin just said how happy he was that you’d decided to return to Hogwarts.”

“We’re all really happy for you,” Carla adds. “Even Emily will come around and be her normal self again soon. Anyway, you’ve told Harry, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s what we talked about when we were in Lupin’s office.”

“What did he say?” Gemma asks.

Darcy thinks about Harry for a moment and can’t help but smile. “He was really glad.”

All the while, Darcy suspects something with Lupin. He’s polite to her enough, giving her a smile and a nod while passing her in the corridors, staying silent while she sits off to the side during Patronus lessons (which had resumed the following week after they’d fallen asleep together, after the full moon had passed) and allowing her to finish homework, calling on her in classes when she raises her hand, but Lupin doesn’t make an effort to seek her out for a quick conversation, nor does he ask her to have dinner with him. Darcy starts to wonder if her comment about staying with him had made him uncomfortable — or perhaps it’s the fact that he’d fallen asleep with a student on his chest that bothers him. Darcy tries to corner him after class one day, but he only apologizes with one of his winning smiles and rushes off, muttering something about being extremely busy. Darcy doesn’t try again, but instead decides to stew in her anger a little while longer before attempting to confront him again.

Yet Darcy feels much more than anger over Lupin’s behavior. She had thought, after what they had shared, that things would be different. Not in this way, not that Lupin would just choose to ignore her, but Darcy had had the idea that maybe she and Lupin would be closer than ever. She had thought Lupin enjoyed it and wanted to mimic it night after night, just as she did. After all, Darcy had never fallen asleep with a man at her side before — only Harry and Emily — and never had she enjoyed a man’s touch so much before. Darcy wants to tell him this, to confess that it’s all she’s been able to think about, how she dreams of his lips in places that would make her flush if she were to say them aloud — but she can’t bring herself to say those things to his face. Darcy can’t bring herself to be so humiliated in front of Lupin, so she lets him ignore her, and she decides that if Lupin will not give her the attention and affection she wants, she will seek it elsewhere. 

In Defense Against the Dark Arts a few weeks after Darcy and Lupin’s incident, Oliver Wood turns to her while Lupin’s back is turned. “You should come to practice tonight,” he whispers in her ear, and Darcy considers him, putting her quill down. “You haven’t been in a while.”

Lupin turns around suddenly, looking at them. Darcy looks right back at him, trying to read his expression, but it’s no use — he turns back around quickly and continues to write on the blackboard. “Sure,” Darcy whispers back, picking her quill back up off the desk and scribbling notes on her parchment. “I’ll meet you there tonight.”

“Really? You will?”

“Yeah,” Darcy smiles weakly, glancing at Professor Lupin, who has his back to the class. Maybe she’s being childish, hoping Professor Lupin will express some kind of feelings for her after seeing her spend time with Oliver Wood. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

 

“Hey — hey — hey!  _ No _ Slytherins!”

Gemma rolls her eyes, looking thoroughly annoyed by Oliver’s behavior. He floats slightly up and down in front of her on his broomstick. “I’m not a spy, Oliver! I’m just here with Darcy!”

“No Slytherins!”

Only after Oliver nearly shouts himself hoarse does she finally decide to leave, making for the quiet of the Slytherin common room. Oliver then decides practice can finally start with no more intruders and onlookers besides Darcy and Madam Hooch, and he flashes Darcy a wide grin before flying away and shrieking at his teammates to get into formation, as they’re burning daylight. Darcy watches quietly as Madam Hooch falls asleep a few seats away from her. Harry circles above his sister’s head every so often as the Snitch hides behind her, and Oliver makes some spectacular — though rather dramatic — saves at the goalposts, and Fred and George Weasley crack jokes about their Keeper whenever one of them gets near enough for Darcy to hear.

“Leave him alone,” Darcy snaps at the twins, smiling all the same. She doesn’t think Fred and George hear her anyway, but the definitely understand what’s being said because a blush rises to her cheeks and she glances in Oliver’s direction.

Harry offers to walk Darcy back to the castle after practice, but she politely declines, instead waiting for Oliver to change back out of his Quidditch robes. Feeling very childish, but also still hurt that Lupin’s taken to ignoring her, Darcy feels that, should Lupin happen to see her walk back into the castle, she’d rather he see her walking in with Oliver Wood. Hoping very much that seeing her and Oliver together will force Lupin to start a conversation, Darcy clings to that shred of hope. She waits outside the locker room, glancing up at the stands to make sure that Madam Hooch has gone, the crisp wind blowing her hair around. Wrapping her cloak tighter around her as the wind picks up, Darcy notices Oliver walking out of the changing rooms. She tenses, realizing that he’s quite cute right after Quidditch — his face is still glowing and flushed, his eyes alight with passion, the corners of his lips still turned upwards, and with the swagger in his step, Darcy can’t help to feel she’s never truly looked at Oliver before. 

Oliver carries his broomstick over his shoulder as he approaches Darcy at the edge of the pitch. Instead of escorting her back up to the castle, however, he looks at her with curiosity. Darcy cocks an eyebrow. “We’ve still got some light left,” he says slowly. “If you weren’t looking to go back to the castle just yet.”

“What do you have in mind?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. He holds out his broomstick and Darcy’s eyes widen suddenly, and she shakes her head. “No — no, I can’t fly and you know that.”

“Come on,” Oliver pleads, moving closer to her so Darcy can see the glistening sweat on his forehead. “I’ll ride with you — don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.”

Darcy looks at the broomstick skeptically, and then back up at Oliver. He smiles mischievously, making Darcy feel reckless. “One ride, and I don’t want to go too high, and I want to be in front.”

“Don’t fool yourself,” Oliver winks, mounting his broomstick and making sure there’s enough room in front of him for Darcy to slide on. “You just crave the feel of my arms around you.”

Darcy feels foolish, though, standing with a broomstick between her thighs. She looks up at the night sky, the moon particularly bright tonight, the stars flickering all around them. Oliver wraps his arms around her, gripping the broomstick tightly, and Darcy puts her hands above his. And then, before he can whisper any instructions in her ear, he kicks off hard from the ground and the wind stings Darcy’s face as they go higher and higher, far higher than she wants to go —

And it’s then she hears Oliver’s laughter ringing in her ears. She hadn’t realized she’d been screaming as they took off. The broomstick seems so skinny, and Darcy feels that she’s going to fall off, crashing towards the ground, but Oliver’s strong arms keep her safe for the meantime and he seems to know exactly what he’s doing as he flies them around the goalposts once. Soon, Darcy’s screaming turns into laughter and Oliver flies closer to the ground, speeding along the grass and going in figure-eight patterns.

“Hold on tight!” Oliver shouts in her ear over the whistling wind. 

“What?” Darcy screams back, but Oliver doesn’t answer — he releases the broomstick to hold Darcy around her middle, and Darcy quickly loses control of the broomstick. Thankfully, they’re only about five feet from the ground, but they’ve gained some speed, and as the broomstick nosedives and throws both Darcy and Oliver off, they slide across the grass, tangled in each other. Darcy is completely breathless, looking up at Oliver and massaging the stitch in her side.

“You’re really terrible at flying, aren’t you?” he laughs, running a hand through his hair to get some grass out of it. “I’m glad you came tonight — how’d we look?”

“Fantastic, as usual.”

Oliver gets to his feet, picking up his broomstick and holding out a hand for Darcy. Darcy grabs it and allows Oliver to help her up, and he brushes off her back. “You say that everytime,” he notes, wiping some grass and dirt off her shoulders. “I hope it’s true.”

Darcy turns back to face Oliver, looking him over carefully. He is a sweet boy, and she can’t deny he’s been so friendly and kind towards her these past weeks. She smiles at him, and still burning and aching for Lupin, Darcy leans in and kisses Oliver hard instead of giving him a solid answer. Clumsily, she backs Oliver into the changing rooms once more. Darcy recalls only ever being in here on a few occasions — before Harry’s first ever Quidditch match; when Oliver had spent so much time yelling at his team to eat breakfast and forgot his broomstick in the Great Hall, and Darcy had had to go back and get it only to run it back down the Quidditch pitch; and the day Hermione had come (almost) face to face with the giant basilisk and been Petrified — Quidditch had been cancelled that day and Oliver Wood had been livid. But never has she done anything so vulgar and so crude inside the changing rooms, as Oliver lays down a fluffy towel that Darcy seriously questions the cleanliness of.

When Oliver tugs Darcy’s shirt off over her head, he catches a glimpse of Darcy’s shoulder again, this time in the light. He runs his fingers over the faded, pink, claw-like marks, as if to make certain that’s what he felt in the closet a few weeks ago. Oliver pokes the middle scar looking Darcy in the eyes for a reaction. Anger flashes across her face. “Don’t do that,” she hisses, grabbing his wrist firmly and forcing his hand away. “Don’t touch them.”

“Do they hurt?” Oliver asks, pulling his hand out of Darcy’s grip and brushing some stray hairs out of her face casually, as if he hadn’t just prodded her scars.

“No,” Darcy snarls. “But don’t touch them.”

And while Oliver pounds in and out of her on the changing room floor, Darcy has only one thing on her mind, and it half-disgusts her and half-excites her — Lupin. She wonders if he has the Marauder’s Map open, searching for her dot. She wonders what Lupin would have to say if he did see her dot with Oliver’s, alone in a quiet place, away from prying eyes. She wonders, shamefully, what he’d think if he came down and happened to catch them. Darcy’s mind begins to wander — Lupin has shown explicit interest in her, she thinks. If he wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t have kissed her, or held her, or done all those things to show her that he cares. Lupin had proven to be uneasy and slightly angry after catching Darcy in the broom closet with Oliver, and while Darcy doesn’t see Lupin as someone to get jealous over an eighteen-year-old boy, she had gotten off at the very thought of Lupin feeling so possessive. For a moment, for a brief moment back in Lupin’s apartments, Darcy had been prepared to give herself to him when he’d kissed her. She’d thought he’d kiss her for a long time — much longer than he had — months of pent up frustrations and unsaid things communicated in ways other than words and kisses. Darcy had wanted it, so badly, but Lupin had only pulled away and  _ apologized. _

Yet after two weeks of meeting with Oliver in secret — in the changing room after Quidditch practice, broom closets between classes, the prefects bathroom during mealtimes — Lupin still hasn’t said anything. Even more discouraged, Darcy allows Oliver to show little signs of affection towards her beyond their secret rendezvous — in the common room, Darcy allows Oliver to hold her hand loosely; they sit closer together during Defense Against the Dark Arts classes; Oliver even takes her by surprise when he kisses her before bed one night, as if they’ve been doing it for years, just a little peck on the corner of her mouth that’s so casual and so sudden that Darcy doesn’t even know what to think. And after that, despite everything she’s ever said and done to Oliver, Darcy realizes that Oliver’s finally done it — he’s finally worn her down, and she come to the conclusion that she may very well be his girlfriend now, even if that had never been her intention. 

And it’s the very last thing Darcy wants. Sure, it’s nice to hold hands with someone sometimes, and of course she appreciates the small comfort one of Oliver’s arms draped over her shoulders give her, but Oliver Wood is not what she wants. Darcy knows what she wants, and she feels that now is a good time to take a page out of Gemma’s book and go after what she wants.

But she doesn’t get the chance that night, as Emily walks into the common room and smiles at Darcy. “I’ve been stupid and a terrible friend,” Emily whispers, blushing slightly. “Let’s find somewhere to talk.”


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any mistakes, but i wrote most of this chapter on my phone and my screen is cracked and shattered and has black stuff all over it so it's a little difficult at times!!

Darcy and Emily sneak out of the Gryffindor common room underneath the Invisibility Cloak, huddled very close together, their shoulders rubbing and hips bumping — Darcy has always been long-legged and lanky like her father, and that combined with Emily’s height has always been a problem where the Invisibility Cloak is concerned. However, very comfortable with the lack of boundaries between them, Darcy and Emily make it work with just the very bottoms of their shoes showing. Tucked in Emily’s bra, Darcy can see the bulky rectangular outline of a pack of cigarettes, likely given to her from Gemma. While Darcy is grateful she’ll have something to do with her hands, she wishes Emily could have brought some alcohol instead.

Fifteen minutes after leaving the Gryffindor common room, Darcy pulls the Invisibility Cloak off them as they find themselves at the Astronomy Tower. Despite the beautiful, spring weather that March has promised so far, the night chill is still present, along with the crisp wind. Though after being underneath the Invisibility Cloak with Emily, in such close confines, with their hot breaths making them desperate for fresh air, the night air is welcome, and Darcy lets the breeze wash over her flushed and slightly sweating face. Emily wastes no time in retrieving the cigarette pack from her bra and she gives the top of the pack a few sharp smacks against her palm, making Darcy jump.

“What are you doing?” Darcy asks, laughing quietly. 

Emily shrugs, suddenly seeming very defensive. “I saw Gemma do it once.” She watches Darcy as she smacks the pack to her hand a few more times and then rips it open, pulling out two cigarettes. Darcy allows Emily to put it between her lips, lighting it with a spark that issues from the end of her wand after she flicks her wrist a few times.

Darcy takes a long drag from her cigarette, exhaling the smoke through her nose to avoid blowing it in Emily’s face. They both look at each other for a long time, unsure of how to start the conversation, but Darcy wants Emily to speak first. She wants to hear Emily’s side of things — Darcy knows if she were to speak first, it might turn into another argument. She doesn’t want to sound defensive or accusing before Emily even has a chance to apologize, and Darcy will make sure that Emily will apologize by the end of the night.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with Oliver,” Emily finally says, when Darcy’s already three-quarters of the way done with her cigarette. 

“I think everyone’s noticed.” Darcy takes one last, long drag and tosses the butt over the edge of the Astronomy Tower, watching it being swallowed by the darkness. It’s true, though — just about everyone has noticed that Darcy’s been spending a lot of time with Oliver Wood. The whispers follow her in the corridors, classrooms, and in the Great Hall during meals. She had expected they would, and she’s no stranger to whispers anyway. The excitement over Darcy Potter’s presence at Hogwarts had been overshadowed by Harry’s coming to Hogwarts, and Darcy hadn’t been at all upset about it, but now that it’s happening again, Darcy can’t help but to feel a little uncomfortable about the whole thing.

“You’re his, er— girlfriend now?” Emily asks, looking mildly uncomfortable as she finishes her own cigarette, and the two of them sit down, bathing in the bright moonlight. 

“No,” Darcy retorts, too sharply. “Well— I suppose it depends who you ask.” She groans into her hands, running her hands through her hair. “I fucking hate that word—  _ girlfriend _ .”

“You didn’t hate it when you dated Daniel in fifth year,” Emily reminds her, and for the first time, a small smile crosses her face. 

“Ah, I was young and stupid and desperate for someone to hold my hand,” Darcy says, chuckling. “Now, ‘girlfriend’ just makes it seems like I’m someone’s property, and I will never belong to anyone.” Darcy looks up at Emily, mentally kicking herself. She wishes she would just shut up and listen to Emily speak.

“I’ve taught you well,” Emily says, looking out towards the grounds. They sit in silence for a little while until Emily rustles around, offering Darcy another cigarette. Darcy grins and takes it from her. “Remember when we used to steal my dad’s cigarettes? He was so mad when he caught us smoking outside that one time— I thought he was going to kill us both—” She starts to laugh. “His face got really red, remember? And he started baiting us, leaving out two cigarettes to see if we’d take them.”

“Good thing your mum didn’t care much about her wine,” Darcy says. “That was better than smoking anyway.”

Darcy and Emily laugh together, remembering the times spent at Emily’s house getting into trouble. Darcy had thought Emily’s father was really going to wring their necks when he happened to catch them puffing on his cigarettes. Then Emily’s smile disappears, and she grows quiet and serious again. “Darcy,” she begins, sounding troubled. Darcy looks over at her. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I’ve never loved anyone the way that I love you.”

“I know.”

Emily pulls her knees up to her chest, taking a long pull off her cigarette before flicking it over the side, just as Darcy had. “I wanted you to go into the Ministry with me so badly,” she begins, her voice barely more than a whisper. Darcy listens in silence, suddenly feeling quite bad for ignoring Emily for so long. “After I leave Hogwarts, it’s like I have to start all over again. And I wanted to start all over again with you at my side, just like it was when we started Hogwarts.” Emily takes in a deep breath. “Everyone wanted to be your friend when you came here, remember?”

“I remember.”

To Darcy’s surprise, Emily grins from ear to ear, looking almost apologetic. “Darcy— you were so fucking weird when you got here, you know that, right?”

This makes Darcy laugh out loud. “Yeah, I know,” she shrugs, running a hand through her hair. “Blame Aunt Petunia. You wouldn’t be so surprised at how I’d turned out if you knew her.”

First year seems an entire lifetime ago to Darcy. A lifetime ago she’d sat on the Hogwarts Express, already wearing her Hogwarts robes, crying in an empty compartment. A lifetime ago she’d been Sorted into Gryffindor, with no friends to sit by, just the radiant blonde girl that had been Sorted early on. A lifetime ago she’d gone to sleep in her dormitory for the first time — and had woken with a start, drenched in sweat and screaming, with that same blonde girl standing over her with her eyes wide and fearful. A lifetime ago, Emily had crawled into bed with Darcy for the first time, and they had held each other for the rest of the night. 

And Darcy knows that Emily isn’t wrong about how strange she was. Darcy Potter had arrived at Hogwarts with nearly everyone knowing her name, with everyone asking questions about her brother’s victory over Voldemort, expecting her to be a hero or an already trained witch. Instead, Darcy had arrived at Hogwarts with a head full of Muggle poetry, clad in fading and moth-eaten dresses from Petunia’s childhood, always standing up straight with her chin and nose in the air. People had grown frustrated with her lack of understanding wizarding culture, having been the Potters’ daughter, and people never really had known how to respond when Darcy admitted she didn’t remember much about the night her parents died. They’d given her sideways and strange looks in the corridors, as if she wasn’t quite human.

“Who are you?” Emily had asked, all those years ago.

Darcy had simply blinked at her, not understanding the question. Then, with a shy smile, she had answered, “I’m Darcy Potter.”

“Yeah, but— who are you? Don’t you have any hobbies or— don’t you like to do things?”

“Sure,” Darcy had answered with a small smile. “I like to do things.”

“Like what?” 

Darcy only shrugged, thinking hard. “I don’t know,” she’d said. “I like to read poetry.”

“You like to read poetry?” Emily had seemed shocked at her response, but in hindsight, Darcy thinks that Emily just hadn’t expected to hear that out of an eleven-year-old’s mouth. “Does you aunt like it when you read poetry?”

“Yes,” she’d said eagerly. “She likes it when I perform her favorite poems in front of her friends.”

“What about— films? Do you like those? Which are your favorites?”

“Oh, Aunt Petunia doesn’t let me watch the television.”

That’s how it had started, all of it. Emily had slowly delved deeper into Darcy’s private life, had started introducing her to things like chess, books with romance in them that had made Darcy’s cheeks flush, Muggle rock n’ roll and The Weird Sisters, black-and-white movies that made them both cry at the end. Emily had given her free rein of her closet, let Darcy choose what clothes she liked the best and keep them. And every year, after every summer, Darcy had returned to Hogwarts a little more confident, a little more opinionated, a little more stubborn, a little more outgoing, a little more sure of herself, and with more stories of how she’d manage to disappoint her Aunt Petunia, which Darcy would tell with a sly grin. In fifth year, while watching Harry being Sorted, Emily had turned to Darcy at the Gryffindor table and asked the question Darcy hadn’t heard in five years — “Who are you?”

And Darcy, without looking away from Harry, without missing a beat, had responded, “I’m Darcy fucking Potter, now would you shut up? I’m trying to watch.”

Darcy tries to think of how she’d answer that question if Emily were to ask now. She tries to think of a clear answer — who is she, really? But when she fails to find an answer, Darcy privately hopes that Emily isn’t about to ask. She is very glad, however, when Emily offers her yet another cigarette and lights it for her. Slightly buzzed, Darcy stares at Emily, wondering if an apology is even going to come, and then —

“Darcy, I’m so sorry for what I said,” Emily sighs, holding her face in her hands. “I should never have said those things to you, and in front of Harry and his friends. I was angry, and I shouldn’t have been. Professor Lupin was right about it being your decision and I— maybe— was a little too forceful about my opinion, but— Darcy—” She lets the cigarette between her fingers burn without raising it to her lips. Emily only stares at it, at the smoke that swirls around their heads. She gives it a flick, letting the ash fall to the ground. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“What are you talking about?” Darcy asks suddenly, perhaps sounding a bit harsher than she wanted to. 

Emily only looks at her. “Gemma wouldn’t be with me for my birthday unless I asked you to be there,” she admits, looking sheepish. “Carla came, but— I wanted everyone to be there. It wasn’t the same with just Carla and me— it was lonely.”

In truth, Darcy had remembered Emily’s birthday just fine, but instead decided to spend it at Quidditch practice. She had hoped Emily would come find her, would come down to the Quidditch pitch and apologize and ask her to have a few drinks in an abandoned classroom, but Emily never came. So, instead of spending Emily’s eighteenth birthday getting drunk, Darcy had fucked Oliver in the changing rooms, hoping to exhaust herself to the point where she wouldn’t have to feel angry anymore.

“I don’t want to feel like that again,” Emily whispers. There’s a heavy pause for a minute as they finish their cigarettes together. “Is this what you really want? You want to come back to Hogwarts?”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, confidently. “I want to come back.”

“Then I’m with you.” Emily flashes Darcy a very genuine smile, and Darcy smiles back. And then, Emily’s smile falters for just a moment, but long enough for Darcy to take notice. “And Darcy, about Professor Lupin—”

“Don’t,” Darcy interrupts her, keeping her anger at bay for the sake of their friendship. She decides that it may be easier to just say what Emily wants to hear, not what Darcy truly thinks. “I was the one who held his hand— it’s my fault. And I would never actually act on any feelings I have for him— you have to know that. If I get kicked out of school now, I’ll have no choice but to try to go into the Ministry. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Emily blushes slightly, smiling again.

* * *

Things seem to return to normal, except for one thing — Lupin still hasn’t initiated a conversation outside of class with her, and by now, Darcy is sure she’s heard the whispers about her and Oliver Wood, sure he’s seen Oliver show her affection, whether it be an arm draped around her shoulders in the corridors, or a peck on the cheek after dinner in the Great Hall before Quidditch. And while affection is exactly what Darcy had been looking for a few weeks ago, she comes to the sudden realization that she doesn’t want Oliver’s affection — or anyone else’s — she only wants Lupin’s. She starts to miss the warmth of his touch — instead of a lazy arm around her, she wants Lupin’s steady hand on the small of her back; instead of sloppy kisses, she wants Lupin’s fingers laced with her’s; instead of sitting close together on the sofa in the common room, Darcy wants to be curled up beside Lupin in his apartments, in front of the fire, his chest underneath her cheek as she falls asleep.

She regrets, in full force, ever telling Lupin that she’d been thinking of him when she’d run off with Oliver Wood, the night Lupin caught them in the middle of the act. Whenever she looks up at the staff table during meals, Lupin looks at her only for a moment before averting eye contact. Darcy wonders if Lupin thinks at all about what she’d said, wonders if he remembers what she’d confided in him every time he sees Darcy and Oliver together. The thought embarrasses her to no end —  _ he knows I want him. He knows that I think of him when I’m fucking Oliver _ .  _ How humiliating. _

But Emily, Gemma, and Carla are seemingly quite glad that Darcy’s found comfort in Oliver Wood after years of rejecting his advances. Darcy wishes that one of her friends would say something — slap her a few times just to force her to remember that  _ she doesn’t want this.  _ She had thought that Emily, of all people, would shriek in her face that she doesn’t need a boyfriend, or whatever Oliver is to her. But everytime Darcy looks at Oliver to tell him off, he only beams at her, looking at her like she’s the Quidditch Cup, and Darcy can’t find it in herself to break it off. 

However, there is one person who shows explicit dislike towards whatever Darcy and Oliver have — Harry. 

“I’m glad you’re happy, Darcy,” Harry says one night when they’re alone in the common room together. He glances at her, to see if she’s glowering at him or not, and then continues. “But why Oliver? Not that I don’t like him, but— imagine ten years from now at holidays or something— he’ll probably still be critiquing my flying.”

Darcy scrunches her nose at the thought of she and Oliver in ten years. “I’m not going to marry him.”

“Then what are you doing with him?”

Darcy narrows her eyes and smirks. “What do you think I’m doing with him?”

Harry’s cheeks turn pink. “That’s disgusting.” Then he looks at his sister with horror. “How? Where?”

She only smiles innocently at him. 

Groaning, Harry splutters, “Not in the changing room? Please don’t tell me the changing room…”

“How did you get that from a single  _ look _ ?” Darcy asks incredulously. 

“Because I know you.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

She’s quite glad the Easter holidays go quickly; drowning in homework and studying hard for their upcoming exams, Darcy and Emily barely speak to each other, working long hours into the night with the rest of the students, who also seem to have reached their breaking point. The nights are longer when Darcy, Emily, Harry, Hermione, and Ron spend time researching hippogriffs for Hagrid, thought the conversation is nice and keeps the mood light, even when the situation is anything but. Even Gemma, usually very lax about studying, spends more time than usual in the library with Carla and, as a result, ends up becoming very snippy and impatient with the rest of her friends. Darcy and Emily contribute it to a lack of sleep, but Carla tells them in a low voice one day that the upcoming Quidditch match has put just as much strain on Gemma. The three of them laugh quietly, and Carla excuses herself rather quickly when Darcy asks who she’ll be supporting.

The Monday before the game, Darcy and Oliver find themselves — again — in the changing rooms after practice. Lying underneath Oliver, clad in only her underwear, Darcy grabs a fistfull of his hair as he bites down on her neck. “Ouch!” she shouts, and Oliver pulls away immediately, breathing very heavily. Darcy puts her fingers to the place where he’s bitten, and she can feel the imprints of his teeth. “Don’t fucking bite me.”

“Sorry.” Oliver kisses the place where her fingers are, going about business as usual by stuffing a hand down her underwear. 

Darcy’s heart begins to race as his fingers work furiously between her legs. She tries to let herself relax, but with all the added stress in the past few weeks, it’s difficult to enjoy anything. Oliver’s lips find her’s, but Darcy pulls away, turning her head so Oliver kisses her jaw instead. “Oliver—” she mutters, clearing her throat and inhaling sharply, “Oliver— you don’t think— I’m not—”

“What?” he murmurs between kisses. 

“You don’t think— I’m your— girlfriend, do you?”

Oliver tenses, pulling his hand back out of her underwear and looking at her with a furrowed brow. He sits up, straddling her waist. “Do you not want to be my girlfriend?” he asks, frowning. 

“Well— I mean—” Darcy props herself up best she can with Oliver still on top of her. “We’re just sleeping together, aren’t we?” The look on his face at these words are the reason she hadn’t said them sooner. Oliver looks like a broken man for a split second before he rearranges his features to look cool and unphased. “I just— I don’t want to be anybody’s— you know…”

“All right,” Oliver agrees with a shrug. “Fine, I won’t call you my girlfriend.”

“What’ll you call me instead?”

Oliver grins, leaning into her again and kissing her on the lips. “My lover,” he suggests in a dramatic tone, kissing her again, and Darcy chuckles. “All right, maybe not that. I’m open to suggestions, however.” He leaves a trail of kisses across her collarbone, leaving her skin wet. 

Laughing, Darcy shakes her head. “Just forget it.”

As he goes to pull down her underwear, Oliver looks back up at her face. “Hey, when we get back to the common room, can you tell Harry—”

“God, Oliver— if one word of Quidditch comes out of your mouth right now, I won’t be your anything anymore.”

Finally, the day of the match approaches. Breakfast is an exciting affair, and Darcy has to tell Oliver several times to stop yelling at his team to eat, and has to remind him several times to eat his own breakfast before forcing anyone else to. Oliver, however, barely hears her and continues to snap last minute strategies while Darcy grips his tense forearm tightly. Though she’s quite relieved when Oliver leads the Gryffindor team down to the pitch before breakfast ends, and it’s then that Gemma and Carla join them at the Gryffindor table. 

Gemma, the proudest Slytherin that Darcy’s ever had the pleasure of knowing, is bedecked from head to toe in green and silver; her sweater is a rich, emerald green, a green and silver scarf is draped around her neck, and she’s tied her hair back so everyone can see the several green earrings in her ears. Carla, not quite as enthusiastic as Gemma, has another Slytherin scarf around her neck, just like Gemma, and is holding a small Slytherin pennant in her hand. Darcy and Emily, dressed in red and gold, look their friends up and down for a minute, sizing each other up. 

“You’re a traitor, you know that?” Darcy says to Carla, shaking her head exasperatedly. “And here I thought we were friends.”

“More than half the school is cheering for Gryffindor,” Carla replies bashfully, looking around the Great Hall. “Anyway, I’ll still be your friend if Gryffindor wins. Not sure about Gemma, though.”

“If?  _ If _ ?” Gemma retorts through gritted teeth. “There’s no if— Slytherin has been training way too hard to lose.” She smiles politely at Darcy and Emily. “How much sulking time will you need when we win? And how long until I can rub it in your face?”

Emily leans in closer, grinning mischievously. “You willing to put money on that?”

Gemma considers her, looking around to make sure no teachers are listening in. “Sure,” she says, looking to Carla and Darcy. “You guys want in?”

Carla shifts in her seat, thinking about it, but Darcy doesn’t hesitate. “Five Galleons that Gryffindor wins.”

“Five Galleons? That’s it?” Gemma frowns. “I’ve got ten in my trunk that are  _ begging _ to be used for purposes such as this.”

“Five Galleons,” Darcy repeats. “And anyway, you don’t want to lose ten Galleons, do you? What about you, Carla? Five for Slytherin?”

“Yeah, I’m in,” Carla agrees, and they all shake hands, criss crossing their arms over each other’s laps. “C’mon, Gemma, we should get going. I want to get seats at the front this time.”

“We should go, too,” Emily mutters as Gemma and Carla join the group of Slytherins making their way out of the Great Hall. As they get to their feet, Emily stretches dramatically, looking triumphant. “We’ll have to find something cool to spend our extra money on… I’m thinking we could get some really expensive wine or something… just to celebrate…”

As Emily drags Darcy out of the Great Hall, chattering excitedly about the match, Darcy looks over her shoulder, feeling eyes on her. Normally, this wouldn’t bother her, as people are usually looking at her, but this time is different. When she turns around, her eyes fall on Professor Lupin, who smiles weakly at her. Darcy stumbles, tripping over her feet as Emily continues to drag her through the threshold. Before she rounds the corner, Darcy surprises herself and disgusts herself, by giving Lupin a smile she’s never given anyone. The last thing she sees as Emily pulls her into the entrance hall is Lupin laughing, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

As the stands begin to fill for the last Quidditch match of the season, and the most exciting match by far without it having actually started yet, Darcy’s extremely glad that she and Emily have made up in time to watch and enjoy it together. Darcy keeps throwing casual glances around the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lupin walking towards the pitch, but the students and teachers are packed so close together, it’s hard to make anyone out. Trying to push Lupin and his smile to the back of her mind, Darcy turns back to the pitch as the Gryffindor team walks out of the locker rooms to tumultuous applause. Darcy and Emily scream themselves hoarse at the sound of Harry’s name echoing across the field in Lee Jordan’s voice, and soon, his voice is drowned out completely by the cheering student and booing ones. 

When both teams kick hard off the ground and fly into the hair, the screaming continues. Everyone on the Gryffindor team seems to be flying perfectly, having had intense practices the last few weeks. As the Quaffle is passed around from Gryffindor to Gryffindor, two people sidle up to Darcy’s side — Ron and Hermione. Darcy greets them with a smile and a nod, unable to communicate over all the noise. Hermione passes her binoculars to Darcy for her to borrow, and Darcy tries to find the Snitch as Harry circles the pitch. After attending so many Quidditch practices and after being around Oliver Wood so much lately, Darcy is quite aware that Harry needs to wait until Gryffindor is well in the lead to catch it.

And finally, Angelina Johnson scores the first goal and three-quarters of the stands stomp their feet and punch the air, and Emily jumps up into the air, screaming. But the rest of the match does not proceed so cleanly. Beaters bats are thrown at other players, the Slytherins begin to become rowdier and rougher, and Madam Hooch starts to call penalty shots for both sides — Darcy’s never seen so many penalty shots in one game in her entire life, and Madam Hooch seems beside herself. Faintly, very faintly, Darcy can hear Lee Jordan shouting down the Slytherin team and whooping loudly when a Gryffindor Chaser manages to get the Quaffle through the goalposts.

A little while into the game, Darcy shrieks as both Bludgers race towards Oliver Wood and hit him full in the stomach. For a second, Darcy expects him to fall off his broom — he seems dazed and winded — and Darcy snatches the binoculars from Ron’s hands to get a closer look at him. Oliver, however, much more practiced and talented at Quidditch than other things, hangs on tight to his broomstick, and the penalty shot awarded for the Slytherins’ behavior earns Gryffindor another ten points.

Seventy-ten.

Darcy is sure, at this point, her voice is gone. She can’t hear her own screaming over everyone else, and her throat is scratchy and dry, but she continues to cheer for Gryffindor, hoping that Harry will find the Snitch soon and end the game before Slytherin can catch up. And then, just as Harry makes to dive on his broom, Hermione tugs on Darcy’s sleeve, but Darcy already knows what she’s trying to point out — Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Seeker, is holding on tight to the back of Harry’s broomstick, and if Harry had actually seen the Snitch, it’s long gone by now as Draco Malfoy holds him back.

But Harry shakes him off as the students and teachers boo and hiss at Draco Malfoy. A penalty shot is awarded, but the energy is now so high, it seems to have transferred straight to the teams’ nerves. Harry and his Firebolt continue to soar around the stadium, breaking up the Slytherins as they try to block Angelina Johnson —

“Look!  _ Look _ !” Ron’s jumping up and down, Hermione’s binoculars pressed hard to his face. He’s pointing at the pitch, punching Darcy in the arm to get her attention. She looks through the binoculars and sees at once what Ron is shouting about — Draco Malfoy is diving fast towards the ground, and when she looks at the grass for a moment, she sees the Snitch fluttering there and her heart stops at the triumphant look on Malfoy’s face.

“Harry’s seen it!” Emily screams in her ear.

She’s right — Harry has turned his Firebolt around quickly and dives to the spot where the Snitch is. Darcy and Emily hold hand so tightly that neither of them can feel their fingers anymore. Hermione takes the binoculars back, screaming Harry’s name over and over and over again as Harry’s Firebolt goes faster and faster and faster, speeding past Malfoy and towards the ground, and then —

All of the Gryffindor supporters scream louder than they’ve been all game as Harry raises his hand for the crowd to see — the Golden Snitch’s wings are fluttering feebly in his grasp. The rest of the team soars towards Harry on their broomsticks as the Slytherins hastily make their way off the pitch and to the locker room. Emily and Darcy hold each other tight, pulling Ron and Hermione to them, jumping up and down. Darcy’s heart is pounding painfully, her entire body shaky and exhausted from shouting. “I  _ knew _ it! I knew we’d win!” Emily yells in Darcy’s face.

Near the entire stadium rushes the pitch as the Gryffindors start to land. Darcy, Emily, Hermione, and Ron push their way to the front of the crowd, and in one swift movement, Darcy sweeps Harry into her arms as he raises the Quidditch cup high above his head. Coursing with adrenaline, Darcy kisses his sweaty head, falling away from him as other students pry her off her brother; hands reach out to touch him, to touch the cup, to hug him and kiss him. Shuffled among the crowd, Darcy loses sight of her friends, and then she feels a strong arm wrap around her waist. Oliver Wood, eyes wide and chest heaving, pulls Darcy to him. Before she can say anything, Oliver kisses her hard to the cheers and wolf-whistles of his teammates and fellow Gryffindors.

When Oliver finally breaks the kiss, he retracts his arm from around her waist, and Darcy stumbles backwards slightly, flushing a deep red. Oliver’s gaze is fixed upon the Quidditch Cup again, and he shouts for Harry over the heads of some sixth year girls. Smiling at Oliver, Darcy turns and makes her way through the students, needing to escape the pushing and shoving if only for a moment. And finally, fresh air greets her, and Darcy sighs happily, heart still thundering not just from the outcome of the match, but from the public display she and Oliver had just given their fellows. She runs a hand through her hair and glances up towards the castle, jumping when she sees someone standing very near to her.

Lupin sees her and turns, heading back up the path towards the castle; he glances over his shoulder at Darcy again, slowing his pace. He gives her a small, forced smile, and Darcy holds up her hand awkwardly, waving at him with a bright smile. But he only turns his head to face the castle again, continuing his ascent up the path. Darcy watches him go for a moment, and then turns back towards the rest of the students. 

No one is watching her; everyone’s attention is turned towards the Gryffindor team and the Quidditch Cup. Darcy tries to find Emily’s blonde hair in the sea of heads, but everything just looks red and gold and nothing else. Hermione is lost in the crowd, Darcy knows, swallowed up by all of the taller students, and Ron must be with Harry, but Darcy can’t find Harry anywhere, either. She looks back towards Lupin, his figure growing smaller as he gets further away. And once more, Darcy scans the crowd for a sign of Oliver Wood, but of him, there is none. 

_ No one will even realize I’m gone,  _ she tells herself. 

Without even trying to argue with herself, without even bothering to tell herself it’s a bad idea, Darcy speeds away from the students, bounding up the path back towards the castle. She can’t see Lupin anymore, and the Gryffindors are beginning to return to the castle now, making their slow way up the path. Darcy is well ahead of them, likely out of sight, but she slips in the doors quietly and quickly all the same. 

Once outside Lupin’s office, Darcy’s hand hesitates on the doorknob.  _ What will happen if I go in here? _ With everything that had been going on, the last month has gone by quicker than she could have ever expected, yet now it seems forever ago that she’d had a private conversation with Lupin — a friendly conversation, not a stiff and oddly polite one such as how they speak during classes and in the corridors. But the thought of speaking to Lupin again excites her, and the rush of winning the Quidditch Cup has done something to her confidence. 

She expects Lupin to be inside his apartments, but Darcy finds him in his office, organizing his cluttered desk. He looks up when the door opens, and when Darcy closes it behind her, Lupin’s eyes fall to his desk again. “Harry is an excellent flier,” Lupin says casually. “He is very like your father.”

Darcy doesn’t answer. She takes a few steps towards Lupin tries to calm her racing heart. “Is this a good time?” she asks, hoping that he won’t turn her away. When she hears herself speak, she’s surprised at how hoarse her voice is. It’s barely more than a whisper now.

“Now is fine,” Lupin replies quietly. He continues to sort through the massive pile of essays on his desk. “Something on your mind?”

Licking her lips, Darcy clears her throat, trying to sound a little louder. “I miss having dinner with you.” Regardless of how raspy her voice sounds, Lupin understands her perfectly, but instead of agreeing like Darcy hopes he does, Lupin frowns. She grins. “I thought maybe we could celebrate— I’ve just won money on the match, I could get us a nice bottle of wine—”

Lupin shakes his head slowly. He doesn’t speak for what seems like a long time, until Darcy begins to rock back and forth on the balls of her feet. “What did you think was going to happen, Darcy?” he asks incredulously. He raises his eyes to meet her own. Darcy isn’t sure how to answer — she isn’t sure what she had expected to happen after everything they’d shared. All she knows is that she wants it to continue, whatever they might have had. Her smile quickly fades. “We were both lonely, and things happened that shouldn’t have. You’re my student, Darcy— the daughter of some of my oldest friends.” He sighs. “You didn’t think anything was going to come of this, did you?”

Darcy squirms uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes. “I— I thought that…” she stammers, trying to put into words how she feels. This isn’t how she’d expected the conversation to go, and she suddenly finds she wishes she were back in the common room, celebrating with her friends. “I enjoy spending time with you, and it’s not because I’m lonely…” But Darcy isn’t entirely sure that’s true. If it isn’t, why had she decided to seek out Oliver? “I’m not lonely.”

Lupin’s frown turns into something that resembles a sneer. “No?” he asks. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Oliver Wood.”

Darcy feels her stomach clench. She had wanted to Lupin to see them so badly, to feel  _ jealous, _ but now that he’s just watched Oliver kiss her publicly, Darcy just feels childish about it. She blushes, and a sudden thought occurs to her. “How often do you look at that map?”

Lupin answers right away. “Guilty conscience?” he asks, his voice low. He looks away again. “People talk a great deal about you, Darcy, and sometimes not very quietly. I don’t have the time to sit down and watch you on the map, you know.”

Darcy blushes much harder, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. This is, by far, the most uncomfortable conversation she can recall ever having with him over the course of the school year. “I’m not his— Oliver’s— you know…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Lupin replies, but his voice seems shorter. “I am curious, though, how it came to this after I thought you’d made it explicitly clear— several times— that you weren’t interested?”

“Well, he’s— he’s not terrible,” Darcy retorts, scrambling to find Oliver’s more redeeming qualities. “You know, he’s— passionate, and really good at Quidditch— he says he’s already got some offers playing for a few teams.” She wants to slap herself — she doesn’t know why she’s defending Oliver. True, he had grown on her — he had never been a terrible friend to Darcy, especially after she’d been a terrible friend to him. But Lupin’s tone makes her severely uncomfortable, and she feels he’s accusing her something, but she isn’t sure what.

“That’s what you deserve, isn’t it?”

His response takes her by surprise. Darcy isn’t quite sure how to respond. His tone isn’t genuine anymore, but cold. “I— excuse me?” Darcy rasps. 

“He’s what you deserve, isn’t it?” Lupin snarls, standing up to his full height. “Darcy Potter deserves a successful Quidditch player, doesn’t she? Someone who will give her a beautiful house— who will bring money home at the end of the day? Isn’t that what you want? Beautiful, rich, famous Darcy Potter deserves someone who can give her anything she wants.”

“I— Professor Lupin…” she says softly. All of the joy and happiness the match has just brought her is suddenly gone. She feels tears well up in her eyes as the venom in his voice takes her aback. “You’re being rude.”

“Go on, then,” he hisses, and Darcy feels tears start to slip down her cheeks. She looks down at her feet, wiping her face. “Go run back to Oliver Wood. God knows a creature like me doesn’t deserve you.”

Darcy looks up again, wanting nothing more than to scream at him — to tell Lupin how she really feels. She wants him to know that she loves him, that she doesn’t love or even want Oliver Wood, but Lupin has just treated her the way she’s used to being treated — as if she’s some prize to be won, as if all she is is Darcy Potter, sister to The Boy Who Lived, the daughter of a couple who died as martyrs at Voldemort’s hand. And to know that Lupin, of all people, would say such things, would sink so low, breaks her heart. “You’re hurting my feelings,” she whispers, looking into Lupin’s eyes again. 

At the sight of her tears, at her obvious discomfort, Darcy sees his face soften slightly, as if he’s just now realized what he’s said. Lupin sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Darcy, I—” His face falls and he runs a hand down his face, rubbing his patchy beard and continuing to muss up his hair. “Come here, please.”

But when Darcy doesn’t move towards him, Lupin seems to realize the damage has already been done. With her voice low and tears still leaking from her eyes, she murmurs, “I am not something for you to use whenever you get lonely. I’m a person, with feelings, and I’m not just Darcy Potter.”

“I know, Darcy, I know. You  _ know _ that I know that,” Lupin says quickly, moving around his desk and getting closer to her. Darcy crosses her arms over her chest. “I would never use you— don’t be foolish.”

Darcy backs away towards the door, opening it hastily before Lupin can reach her. As she crosses the threshold, she turns back to him. “I had a good time that night,” she confesses, wiping her cheeks again. “And for what it’s worth, I only agreed to see Oliver after you’d stopped talking to me.”

“No— Darcy, please don’t go—”

If she’s being honest, she wants nothing more than to stay there with Lupin, but she doesn’t. Darcy closes the door of his office behind her, leaving him standing there alone, as she makes her way back to the common room.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally part of the last chapter, but it became too long so i split it up

“Hey, where’ve you— Darcy, are you all right?”

She wants to say no. She wants to tell someone what’s just happened, what Lupin’s said to her, but she can’t. “Oliver, could we go somewhere? To talk?”

“Er— sure, yeah, okay.” Oliver glances about the common room, putting a hand on Darcy’s shoulder and leading her towards the spiral staircase that leads to the dormitories. He already smells like alcohol, and seems to sway as he walks, gripping Darcy’s scarred shoulder harder, his fingernails digging into her skin. Leading her into his empty dormitory, Oliver sits on his bed, indicating that Darcy should do the same. She obliges, holding her hands in her lap, and Oliver moves closer to her. “Have you been crying? Where did you go? What’s happened?”

Darcy looks into Oliver’s face, wondering briefly what she’s done to deserve the kindness he shows her. She wonders how many times she’s hurt him, how many times she’s made him feel used just because she was lonely and knew Oliver wouldn’t disappoint. She suddenly feels guilty, a hypocrite, to string along a boy who loves her, when she had stood in front of Lupin only a short while ago, heartbroken at the idea that he’d done the same thing to  _ her.  _

After a long and heavy silence, Oliver moves closer again, taking her hands and squeezing them. His palms are sweaty. “Darcy, what’s happened?”

“Oliver,” she starts, and he smiles weakly at the sound of his name. “It was a great match. How does it feel to have won the Quidditch Cup?”

Oliver beams at her, white teeth flashing brilliantly in the glow of the dim lamps around the dormitory. “I don’t think they’ve created a feeling for how I feel,” he answers breathlessly. “It’s unreal— a dream— pinch me, won’t you? You know what— don’t. If it’s a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”

Darcy can’t help but smile. She releases his hands, reaching up to brush his shaggy hair back. “You’re sweet to me,” she whispers. “You always have been.”

“I like you, Darcy.” Oliver takes her wrist gingerly, lowering her hand from his hair. “Or haven’t you noticed? I thought I made it pretty clear, but maybe you’re not as bright as I thought you were.” He laughs quietly, and Darcy laughs along with him. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Darcy looks down at the floor, at her leg swinging back and forth beside the bed. “I have to tell you something, Oliver, and I’m sorry it has to be tonight.”

Oliver’s smile fades, and his brow furrows. “What? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Wringing her hands together, Darcy clears her throat. She sits up straighter, tucks her feet underneath her. “I’m afraid I haven’t been very clear with my intentions— and I don’t know how to say it, but— I like— someone else.” She blushes furiously, holding her face in her hands. The statement sounds so wildly childish and stupid, and she wishes Oliver would just leave. Groaning, she tries to explain, “I just mean that you are a wonderful friend, Oliver, truly. You deserve so much better than me, and I’m sorry, but—” 

Oliver seems to understand her ramblings, and he chews on the inside of his cheek for a minute. “I really like you, Darcy. I have for a long time.” His eyes flick to her lips, and Darcy notices his gaze lingers for a rather long time before he looks her in the eyes again. “I’m sorry if I’ve done something to you.”

“No— oh, Oliver— it’s nothing you did,” she says hastily, and Darcy feels ashamed. “You have been far better to me lately than you have any right to be. You will make someone very happy one day, but you— you don’t want me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Darcy hesitates, having assumed he’d accept her statement without questioning it. “Look at who I am, Oliver. Why would you ever want to have that burden hanging over you? Being with Darcy Potter— you have no idea—”

“Darcy,” Oliver rasps, looking very serious, yet also very perplexed. “Why would you ever think you would be a burden?”

She opens her mouth to answer him, closing it and pursing her lips tightly before any words manage to come out. Doesn’t he  _ understand _ ? Doesn’t Oliver understand the price of being associated with a Potter? Doesn’t he realize what she’s been subjected to? The horrors and suffering she’s gone through? Doesn’t he understand the enormity of the tragedy? The constant nightmares that crop up whenever they feel like it — the pressure to be able to care for Harry above all other priorities — the understanding that Harry comes first because he’s the only family she’s got left, and Oliver will never come before Harry,  _ never _ . 

Darcy had been so busy rejecting Oliver’s advances over the years, rolling her eyes at his teasing and brushing off his compliments, but now she’s seeing him in a new light, almost. She had never thought what it must feel like for him — Oliver Wood, willing to love her despite everything, despite her constantly pushing him away, despite who she is. And Darcy realizes that no one’s ever shown her such dedication and such love before, and Darcy wonders if she could end up loving Oliver. She knows what she really wants — Lupin — but he’s near unattainable — her teacher, her parents’ friend, almost twice her age, a werewolf, with nothing to offer her but kisses and sweet words and arms that make her feel safe. Darcy thinks this as she leans in slowly towards Oliver, the tip of her nose brushing against his. She looks into his eyes for a brief second, but he doesn’t move away, so she kisses his lips softly and is glad that he doesn’t open his mouth wide to ruin the moment.

Yet even as she pulls away, Darcy knows that something is wrong. The kiss is all wrong — his lips are all wrong. She can’t remember ever kissing Oliver so innocently before, but she’d thought maybe it would awaken some inner feelings for him that she hadn’t realized she possesses. But nothing happens. Fireworks don’t go off in her stomach, she doesn’t feel a rush, and all he tastes of is firewhiskey, which makes her feel slightly nauseous. His lips are chapped, likely from flying through dry wind for weeks on end during practices. 

Sighing heavily, Darcy tucks her hair behind her ears. “I’m a lot of work,” she whispers, trying to find the words to say to Oliver, trying to explain that she’s never received the love she deserves at home all these years. Darcy clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably on the bed. How is she supposed to tell Oliver that she’s weighed down with emotional baggage that likely will never be resolved? How is she supposed to tell him that she craves the understanding and acceptance of that emotional baggage that Lupin’s shown her? How is she supposed to him that all she wants is for Lupin to love her the way that she loves him? 

Darcy puts her hands over her face, feeling tears welling painfully in her eyes. After a moment of silence, Oliver puts his hands on her shoulders and pulls her to him, holding her to his chest. Darcy cries against him, glad that no one will hear over the muffled sounds of the party from downstairs in the common room. Oliver runs his fingers once through her hair, pushing it out of her wet face. “Darcy—” he murmurs, and she looks up at him. “Stay here— I’ll be right back—”

Oliver gets up off the bed quickly, leaving Darcy alone in the dormitory. She hugs her arms around her, rubbing her eyes furiously with her knuckles. Only alone for a few short minutes, she hears footsteps racing up the spiral staircase, and when the door flies open, Darcy starts crying again. Harry moves into the dormitory, closing the door behind him, and Oliver Wood hasn’t returned. Darcy prefers it this way, and when Harry sits on Oliver’s bed beside Darcy, he hugs his sister to himself just as Oliver had done.

With her face buried into his bony shoulder, Darcy cries softly, “Why doesn’t he love me, Harry?”

Harry hugs Darcy tight around her neck, and doesn’t let go for a very long time.

* * *

The whispers come back in full force as classes start again, this time talking of how Darcy Potter had decided to break Oliver’s heart on the night his team had won the Quidditch Cup. Oliver doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge, but he also avoids conversation with her during most classes, and sits rather far away from her at mealtimes now. This, combined with the crushing realization that she will never be good enough for Oliver, and that she will never be able to have Lupin, makes her feel incredibly lonely, despite the support her friends have given her regarding her decision to break things off with Oliver.

“Couldn’t have waited one more night, huh?” Gemma asks her in Potions class that week. She glances across the classroom to where Oliver sits with a few other Gryffindors and a surly Ravenclaw. “What did he say?”

“Nothing much,” Darcy admits sheepishly, stirring her potion absently. “I rambled. And I cried.”

“Oh, Darcy—” Emily shakes her head, looking very serious. “You’re not supposed to cry when you’re the one breaking up with someone.”

Darcy looks daggers at Emily. “I didn’t cry because I was breaking up with him,” she snarls, attracting Snape’s attention from the front of the classroom, and they share an uncomfortable, lingering look before Darcy turns back to her friends. “I just have a lot on my mind right now.”

With the full moon approaching in only a few days, Darcy decides that whatever she has to say to Lupin can at least wait until afterwards. It seems that she’s not the only one who’s suffered a large amount of stress, as Lupin seems more tired than usual, weaker and less enthusiastic during classes. He also appears very scatterbrained, calling Gemma several times by the wrong name during one class, which she doesn’t seem to be too upset about, thankfully.

“You know my name, Professor,” she jokes one class, right after he’s messed up her name. “And I thought we’d gotten quite close.”

Lupin sighs. “I know— forgive me,” he answers. “Take five points to Slytherin for my mistake…”

Darcy is surprised on Wednesday, when Errol delivers a letter from Mr. Weasley, weeks after she’d sent Max with her own letter. The letter is short and sweet — Darcy knows that he’s been incredibly busy with trying to catch Sirius Black, but she can’t help feeling disappointed that he wouldn’t have shown her more enthusiasm in his letter. She wonders if she’s disappointed Mr. Weasley now, as well, having declined his invitation to work with him. Darcy sends Errol back without a reply, ripping Mr. Weasley’s letter into shreds and letting them fall onto her empty plate. Glancing up at the staff table, Darcy sees Professor Lupin’s seat is empty, and suddenly feeling very angry and extremely lonely, she leaves the Great Hall, ignoring Emily’s protests.

Professor Sprout fills in for Professor Lupin that day, allowing them all to study for their upcoming exams, while using the time herself to grade some homework at the front of the class. Gemma drags a chair over to Darcy and Emily’s table, bringing her books and notes and slamming them on the desk. “Wonder where Professor Lupin is, anyway,” Emily says wistfully, trying very hard to avoid looking at her notes. “Think Professor Sprout will finally tell us what’s going on with him?”

Darcy looks up, surprised to see Gemma looking right at her, while Emily’s eyes wander to Professor Sprout. The corners of Gemma’s mouth curl upwards just slightly before she gives Darcy a small nod and opens her book at random, revealing a detailed illustration of how to create Polyjuice Potion. “All right, Darcy,” Gemma starts, wiping the knowing look from her face as Emily turns back to her friends. “I need your help with Potions. That’s going to be my hardest exam, I think.”

“Ancient Runes for me,” Emily adds sulkily. 

“You should have taken Arithmancy instead,” Gemma chuckles. “Easily my best subject.”

Darcy sits with her head propped up with her hand. Her stomach knots as she looks at the door to Lupin’s office — she could just pop in after class — no one would really notice if she showed up late to lunch, would they? Emily and Gemma would, of course, wonder where she’d gone, but she could say she’d gone to the owlery to send a letter, or to the bathroom, or the hospital wing. Darcy tries not to picture Lupin inside his apartments, likely sleeping, biding his time until the full moon rises in a few hours. She tries not to picture a painful transformation, tries not to picture the night she’d come across him fully transformed. Her scars twinge painfully, and Darcy jumps, focusing back on the conversation at hand.

“I’m thinking day after exams, last Hogwarts party ever,” Gemma whispers, completely ignoring her book now. She leans in closer to Emily, who listens intently, and Darcy, whose eyes are glazed over. “Even if we’re caught, what are they going to do? Expel us? We’ll have already taken our final exams by that point.”

“Who’re you going to invite?” Emily asks, seemingly glad to be having a conversation that distracts her from studying. 

“Seventh years, of course— and Carla, obviously,” Gemma replies. “If you two are willing to throw in some money— like, maybe the Galleons I gave you— we could get a lot of alcohol and a lot of cigarettes, and some Muggleborn in Ravenclaw was telling me about this— I don’t even know what it is?— she said it’s some sort of plant, but when you smoke it, it fucks you up—”

“That’s a drug, Gemma,” Emily snorts. “She was trying to sell you drugs.”

The planning of Gemma’s last big party resumes in double Potions after lunch that day. Darcy stares lazily into her cauldron, adding some rat spleens when necessary, checking her book before each stir, and watching Snape move among the cauldrons, smelling and sneering. She suddenly feels an overwhelming sense of dread at the mere sight of Snape, bat-like and ugly, cruel and unjust. Darcy screams internally as she’s forcibly reminded of the fact that she will be spending most of her time with him in just a few months. She wonders what was going through her head when she thought spending time with Snape wouldn’t be such a bad thing. 

_ Harry will be here. Carla will be here. _ Darcy frowns, looking back down at her potion.  _ Professor Lupin will be here. _

Darcy decides to take the night off studying. After classes, she returns to her dormitory and opens the window beside her bed, letting a warm breeze wash over her. Summer is quickly approaching and, with it, a terrible feeling that Darcy can’t quite place. In a little over a month, Darcy will no longer be a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Seven years she’s spent learning and studying and adventuring and drinking, and it is all about to come to an abrupt stop. The best days of her life had been spent here at Hogwarts — sitting under the shade of a large beech tree with her friends; laughing in the elongated tub in the prefects’ bathroom with the multicolored soaps and bubbles; staying up late into the wee hours of the night with Harry and tucking a blanket over him when he finally fell asleep. 

Remembering her first year, Darcy wonders how it ever came to this. First year had gone relatively smoothly, she recalls. There had been no mysterious teachers with mysterious voices coming from the back of their head; there had been no mention of a Chamber of Secrets within Hogwarts, no mention of the monster that lurked inside the school; there had been no end of the year adventure with her own friends. Yet as soon as Harry had found his place at Hogwarts, finally, things had changed and Darcy’s world flipped upside down. Darcy had gone through four years at Hogwarts of nothing but normality, only to suddenly be forced to do things she never thought herself possible of doing. Darcy stares out of the window, thinking hard as the grounds grow still and quiet.

She remembers the feel of Devil’s Snare around her body after jumping through the trapdoor, guarded by Fluffy, Hagrid’s three-headed dog. She remembers the crushing pain she’d felt in her ankles, her thighs, her wrists. She remembers the giant, black bishop that had knocked her from the marble horse she’d been riding when Ron had taken command of the chess match. The bishop had left a deep cut across her forearm, and the debris nearly crushed her, yet still she had lived. She remembers arguing with Harry after he’d insisted Darcy take Hermione and Ron back up to the castle. Darcy had cried fierce tears, but obliged, and left Harry to deal with Professor Quirrell, only to find out that he’d almost died in the process.

She remembers the feel of a sword in her hand only the previous year. She remembers how it glittered red, little rubies set into the hilt. Their adventure in the Chamber of Secrets was hell, surely; Harry had been so calm, so collected, while Darcy trembled with each step she took, taking in the sights all around her. Thinking about it now, Darcy wonders if she had been Harry’s age at the time — if she had been young and innocent and naive, would she still have been so afraid?

Before she can answer her own question, or even begin to ponder it, something comes hurtling towards the open window from around the castle. Darcy looks closer, squinting her eyes, and grins as Max continues to fly closer and closer — he doesn’t even slow down and flies right into Darcy’s face, making her fall backwards onto the floor as he nuzzles into her, nipping at her earlobes and the tip of her nose. Immediately, Darcy looks for a letter tied onto his leg, but there is none there. Max has only come to visit, and Darcy strokes his feathers, standing back up and getting into bed. 

She reaches below her bed for the photo album, stopping before she reaches it as she changes her mind. Darcy pauses, opening the drawer in her bedside cabinet, and she pulls from it a leather bound, black book. Opening it, Darcy smiles at the handwritten notes on the pages, flipping towards the back of the book. She still hasn’t finished it, but now seems like a perfect time. Darcy stays shut in her dormitory all through dinner, with Max fluttering around, perching on top of the beds before coming back down to give Darcy a warm snuggle. And finally, when the moon does begin to rise and Darcy can hear others heading up to their own dormitories, she finishes the book. She closes it slowly, holding it in her lap for a little while. 

Max hoots, and Darcy opens her top drawer to reveal some snacks she’s hidden away. Max flies down immediately, pecking at everything he can reach, ruffling his feathers and stretching out his wings in approval. Darcy watches him, running two fingers down his back and smiling. She glances out of the open window, through which the now cool air filters. Looking longingly at the bright sky, twinkling with stars and lightened by the moon, Darcy digs around under her bed again, retrieving a small piece of parchment, some loose string, and a quill. From her nightstand, she grabs her inkwell uncorks it, dips her quill into it, and holds the tip of her quill just above the parchment, so a drop of ink falls onto it.  _ What do I even write? _

All Darcy wants is to know that he’s okay. She wants him to know that she’s thinking of him tonight, that she worries about him, that she cares about him. Darcy blushes, despite there being no one around to hear her thoughts, or even read her face. Max ignores her for once, still eating a bit of a pastry that’s likely stale by now. She tries to think about what to write that will convey how she feels for him, without sounding incredibly desperate.

Finally, Darcy places her quill to the parchment, shifting a little so the moonlight illuminates the parchment in her lap. By the light of the full moon, Darcy quickly writes,  _ Can I do anything for you? _ And rolls it up, tying it closed with her piece of string and whistling for Max to join her. Max looks up quickly at the sound of her whistle, and he sticks his leg out obediently as she ties the note to it.

“Take this to Professor Lupin,” she whispers, feeling foolish, as if Max will judge her. “And stay there until he writes back. Or don’t— it’s up to you.”

Max tilts his head at her. Darcy scratches under his beak before he takes off through the open window, soaring down the castle and out of sight.


	49. Chapter 49

Max doesn’t return that night, nor is there a response waiting for Darcy in the morning. When she goes down to breakfast, Professor Lupin’s seat is still unoccupied, and Max doesn’t swoop through the Great Hall to deliver the newspaper, either. Emily scoops some food onto Darcy’s plate, but Darcy only pushes the food around, not really eating anything. 

“Darcy, you should eat something,” Harry urges her from across the table. “Toast, at least.”

Darcy drags a hand down her face. “I’m not hungry.”

Harry gives her a pleading look. “Please eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

But come lunchtime, Darcy’s stomach is growling loudly, and she loads her plate with almost everything she can reach. She keeps a hopeful eye out for Max, but she’s distracted by two girls who squeeze in between Darcy and Emily with their own lunch plates. Gemma seats herself on Darcy’s left, with Carla on Gemma’s other side, next to Emily. 

Hermione looks anxiously at Carla. “Is Professor Lupin in class today?”

“Nope,” Carla answers, nodding towards his empty seat at the staff table. “McGonagall was in for him.”

Ron groans dramatically, causing everyone to look at him. “That means we’re going to have to put up with Snape again.” He stuffs a forkful of mashed potato into his mouth.

Hermione sighs. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Last time, I swear, it’s like he thought he was  _ the  _ Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” Ron continues, after swallowing his mouthful of food. He looks thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll skip. How about it, Harry?”

“You shouldn’t,” Hermione snaps, but her heart doesn’t really seem to be in it. “Snape would give you two detentions for weeks.”

“Ah, McGonagall wasn’t bad,” Carla grins. “Didn’t really teach us much. Said Lupin should be back tomorrow.”

All of them grumble, “I hope so.”

As lunch comes to an end, Darcy stands up and stretches. “Come on, Emily,” she mutters. “Double Ancient Runes.”

But Ancient Runes seems to drag on for hours. Darcy doodles on her parchment, glancing over every so often at Emily’s neat notes — Emily, a talented artist, has drawn perfect diagrams in the corners of her parchment. Darcy’s parchment is nearly blank, save for scribbles. With her head resting upon her hand, Darcy hears something hit the window of the classroom, and for a moment she thinks it’s Max — Darcy looks up quickly, but the bird that’s flown right into the window is fluttering away again. Sighing heavily, Darcy examines the ink on her fingers.

Emily puts her quill down, turning to Darcy. “What’s wrong with you?” she whispers, and Darcy cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re seriously upset about Oliver?”

“Not really.” Though the way things had ended with Oliver does make Darcy feel quite bad, she isn’t sad about it. In fact, she feels quite guilty, and it’s slowly eating away at her insides. To know that Oliver Wood will no longer meet her eyes in the corridors after seven long years of flashing toothy grins at each other, makes her feel, if anything, even more lonely. This boy, who once thought the world of her, now doesn’t turn around in Defense Against the Dark Arts classes to share a joke with her, or tell her how nice her hair looks, or just to smile at her. Oliver Wood, who had been her first for so many things — the first boy to hold her hand, her first kiss, her first fuck, her first date. And now Lupin will hardly look at her, will not put a comforting hand upon her back, will not even write her back telling her that he doesn’t need anything. All he’d have to do is write  _ no. _

But Darcy worries all the same. Normally, the day after a full moon, Lupin is back in classes, looking extremely weary, but teaching nonetheless. She doesn’t want to intrude, especially after he’d failed even to send her a simple reply to her note, but his absence intrigues her, and she hopes he’s all right.  _ This isn’t the first time he’s done this, _ Darcy tells herself.  _ He can take care of himself. _

“Darcy?”

Darcy realizes she’s been staring at Emily, but not really seeing her. “Sorry— what?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“I know.”

Darcy shuts herself in the dormitory again after classes. Hermione opens the door once, telling Darcy that Harry had sent her to check on her. “Do you want anything? We’re going down to dinner— we’ll bring you back something.”

“No, thanks.”

When Hermione retreats from the dormitory, Darcy sighs, laying back on her pillow and staring up at the ceiling. She wishes Emily would come in, but what good would that do? Darcy could never tell Emily that she’s pining over someone who doesn’t want her — could never tell Emily that it’s a man behind her strange behavior. It’s embarrassing and humiliating to even Darcy, but after being treated the way that Lupin treats her, Darcy wants to be treated that way forever. How long it’s been since someone has spoken with her like an equal — someone who understands the horrors she’s borne witness to, someone who understands there is pain in her heart that even she hasn’t known was there until this year. 

Darcy finds the photo album under her bed, opening it to the first page. She hopes that several pictures of her parents waving up at her will make her feel a bit better, but all it does is leave her feeling hollow. Her mother, beautiful as ever, smiles up at her daughter; Darcy’s father, so like Harry, has an arm draped around his wife, giving Darcy a warm smile. Darcy continues to flip through the photos until she finds the one of her parents’ wedding. Today, the picture shocks her. The Darcy in the photograph is being held securely in Sirius’s arms, her cheek nuzzled against his chest, and her eyes are closed. Sirius sways back in forth in the photo, as if to keep photo-Darcy content while he holds her. Darcy feels a surge of affection for Sirius, hoping that maybe she’ll dream of him tonight, if only to feel loved again —  _ no, _ the voice inside her head hisses,  _ he never loved you. _ But looking at the photograph, it’s hard to listen to her voice of reason. 

The sky outside the windows grows steadily darker. Darcy flips through the rest of the book, but returns, constantly, to the picture where she’s curled up against Sirius’s chest, sleeping peacefully after what was likely a long and exciting day. Darcy tries to remember anything about that day, retrieving memories from the corners of her mind, but Darcy finds she doesn’t have any memories of that day. She doesn’t remember her own parents’ wedding, doesn’t remember Sirius or Lupin. There are no smells she recalls about the day, no songs, no dancing, no smiles or laughter, and that’s when Darcy closes the book with a snap, making her jump.

Then she hears a snap again, and realizes it wasn’t the book that had made the noise. Darcy pauses, listening for the noise again, and finds it’s not a snap after all, but tapping — something is tapping on the window —

Darcy leaps to the window against which something is tapping, and flings it open. Max enters quickly, dropping a small roll of parchment on her bed and giving her a few good nuzzles to the face. Darcy laughs, hugging the affectionate owl to her. Max hoots quietly, finding the headboard of her bed and perching upon it. Looking nervously at the parchment for a long time, Darcy finally picks it up and unrolls it, her heart racing. She looks quickly to Max, as if hoping he’ll encourage her to open it, but all he does is stare at her, seeming twitchy.

_ If you’re able to get away, I could use a pair of gentle hands.  _

Darcy knows the untidy scrawl the words are written in — the same untidy scrawl that litters the margins of the poetry book she loves so much. She lowers the parchment, looking pensively at Max. She still has the Invisibility Cloak in her trunk, not having returned it to Harry quite yet. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Darcy looks to be doing some type of jig, torn between running back to Lupin (which, if she’s being honest, is what she wants) and ignoring him after all that he’s said. But she can’t continue to stay angry at him — she can’t finish the rest of the year shutting herself in her dormitory, feeling sorry for herself. She hadn’t expected Lupin to ask her to come back after she’d sent Max off with her note — Darcy isn’t sure what she’d expected, but certainly not this.

_ I wouldn’t have to stay very long, _ she thinks, her eyes fixed on her trunk.  _ I could leave whenever I wanted to. _

Darcy gets slowly to her knees, opening her trunk and digging through all of her clothes until she feels the silky smooth fabric of the Invisibility Cloak. She grasps it firmly in her hand, hesitating. If she goes, what does she expect will happen? Does going make her just the same as Oliver — chasing after someone who doesn’t really want her? But Darcy thinks of the comfort Lupin brings her, she thinks of falling asleep with him beside the fire, his arm around her, his cheek resting on the top of her head, his chest underneath her own cheek. What Darcy wouldn’t give to have that feeling — that comfort — for the rest of her life, after knowing nothing like it before. 

She pulls the Invisibility Cloak out of her trunk and folds it neatly, as small as she can. Tucking it into the waistband of her pants, Darcy chuckles at the sight of it underneath the knitted sweater that Emily had made her months ago — it looks awkward, but as long as no one looks directly at the lump near her stomach, it’s barely noticeable. As Darcy makes her way out of the dormitory, Max snoozing at her bed and Lupin’s note in her fist, Darcy considers throwing the cloak on before even going downstairs. She can hear voices floating up from the common room, quiet and whispered voices, and continues down the stairs without worrying about it. But as she grows closer to the common room, Darcy realizes she does recognize the voices, and Hermione is speaking in a quiet and sympathetic voice. Darcy pauses before revealing herself, listening, even though she knows she shouldn’t. If Hermione and the others see the portrait hole open and close with anyone entering or leaving, they’ll know she’s up to something. So Darcy waits a moment. 

“—she’s leaving Hogwarts soon, of course she’s upset, and now after her and Oliver aren’t speaking—”

Ron is with her, as well, and his voice is the next to sound. He keeps his voice low, but not low enough for Darcy not to hear. “Not that I want to pry into your sister’s love life, mate, but I’m still digesting what Emily said about her and Lupin.” Harry must have reacted, because Ron quickly mutters, “Sorry.”

“Come on, Ron—” Hermione sighs. “Dumbledore should have known  _ something _ was going to happen. I mean, introducing someone to Darcy that she could have been very close with, had things been different, of course— are you really surprised? Maybe the hand holding  _ is  _ a little strange, but you can’t tell me you didn’t expect them to be close.” Hermione pauses for a second. “Harry, when was the last time she and Professor Lupin had dinner together?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answers quickly. “She’s been at Quidditch practices nearly every day the past few weeks.”

“You don’t think something happened, do you?” Hermione whispers, quieter than ever. “I mean— maybe it’s not Oliver that’s making her upset.”

There’s a temporary silence as the boys seem to mull this over. Darcy closes her eyes, leaning against the stone wall, hoping that Harry hasn’t told them anything, wondering why she had ever told Harry about her and Lupin in the first place. Not wanting to hear anymore, Darcy clears her throat loudly and walks into view, glancing at Harry and his friends. Hermione’s cheeks turn slightly pink and she buries her nose in a book. Ron looks away into the fire, picking at a spot on his chin, but Harry doesn’t look away from Darcy as strides over to the portrait hole. 

“Where are you going, Darcy?” Harry asks, getting to his feet. “I’ve barely seen you all day.”

“I’m going for a walk,” she says. “Maybe to the kitchens.”

Harry looks very quickly at Hermione and Ron before his eyes flick back to Darcy. “Emily went down to the library,” Harry says again as Darcy pushes the portrait hole open. “She’ll probably be back soon.”

“Don’t tell her you’ve seen me,” Darcy frowns. “Please.”

Looking anxious, Harry nods, and watches Darcy leave the common room. 

Darcy moves quickly through the corridors, deciding to put on the Invisibility Cloak in case she meets Emily on the way down to Lupin’s office. Anger courses through her as she makes her way to him — how often do Harry, Hermione, and Ron talk about her like that? In soft and concerned voices as if she’s terribly ill, as if she’s gone crazy? And if they talk about her like that, who’s to say her own friends don’t do the same thing? Darcy doesn’t want to imagine how Emily, Carla, and Gemma talk about her while she’s not around — she doesn’t want to imagine Gemma presenting the possibility that Lupin has done something to hurt Darcy. Surely her friends  _ know _ she didn’t really want Oliver? Surely they’d figure it out? Darcy shivers, continuing to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom against her better judgement. 

Once inside the dimly lit classroom, Darcy removes the Invisibility Cloak, stashing it somewhere she’ll remember to grab it before she leaves. Lupin’s office door is closed, but when she knocks softly, he doesn’t call out for her to enter, so Darcy lets herself in. Lupin isn’t in his office either, but the hidden door to his private apartments is slightly open. Darcy stands still for a moment, trying to convince herself to go inside. Reluctantly, Darcy opens the door a few inches and sticks her head inside, but Lupin is nowhere to be found — he isn’t on the sofa, and a fire isn’t burning in the hearth. Slipping inside, Darcy closes the door behind her and calls out, “Professor Lupin?”

“Darcy?” Lupin’s incredulous voice sounds from the tiny back room, the door of which is cracked. “Back here, love. Come.”

Darcy takes a few steps towards the back room, her heart beginning to race, her stomach beginning to churn violently. She’s never spent time with him in the back room, and she’s unsure of what she’ll find when she pushes open the door — but there’s nothing strange about the scene at all. Lupin’s lying back on his bed, propped up with pillows, ankles crossed, holding a book up to his face. When Darcy enters the room, Lupin lowers the book so she’s able to get a better look at his face. Lingering near the door, Darcy looks at him, eyebrows knitting together in worry.

He doesn’t look well, not that she’d expected him to. While the effects of his transformation are still visible in classes the day after a full moon, what he looks like now is something else completely. Lupin still has dark shadows under his eyes, his face lacking color, damp with sweat. He’s pushed his hair back out of his eyes, and his chest rises and falls very slowly with each breath that he takes. “Professor— you look…” Darcy can’t quite find the words to say to describe him politely. 

“I know,” he rasps. Marking his page in his book, Lupin closes it and sets it on his bedside table, looking at Darcy. “You weren’t at dinner.”

Darcy ignores his last comment, though she feels a blush creep up her neck at the thought that Lupin had noticed her absence. “If you’re still not feeling up to teaching, you should go to Madam Pomfrey. You don’t look well.”

Lupin smiles sadly. “Thirty years I’ve been doing this, Darcy,” he says. “It will pass, and then I won’t have to worry about it until the next full moon.” Lupin pauses again, opening his mouth to speak, and then closing it again. Finally he says, “I didn’t think you would come.”

Darcy purses her lips, glancing for a moment over her shoulder towards the sitting area behind her. “You left the door open for me,” she notes. “Surely you wouldn’t have done that if you had expected me not to come.”

At this, Lupin smiles weakly. “I was only hopeful, not certain.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your message right away. I was— surprised when your owl came to my window.”

“Max,” Darcy replies, and when Lupin cocks an eyebrow, she elaborates. “His name is Max.”

“Max,” Lupin repeats slowly. “Of course.” He sighs heavily, and then moves over more to the center of his bed. “Come here.” He pats the space he’s made for Darcy.

Hesitantly, Darcy does as he’s requested. Just as with Oliver, Darcy tucks one of her feet underneath her, letting her other leg dangle from over the mattress. Up close, Lupin looks even worse — the shadows under his eyes look like bruises, and the old and fading scars contrast with his eerily milky skin. With a slight pink tint to her cheeks, Darcy wonders how someone who looks so pathetic could possibly have hurt her so. He looks completely harmless now, weak and exhausted, looking as hurt as Darcy feels.

“You and Oliver—”

“I don’t want to talk about me and Oliver.”

“I was only curious,” Lupin says, raising his eyebrows. “Forgive me.”

“It’s all right.”

“Darcy, I’m so sorry for what I said,” Lupin whispers. Slowly, he reaches for one of her hands, settled in her lap. Lupin takes one of them, lacing their fingers together loosely. He sighs again, bringing their hands to his lips, to kiss her fingers. Lowering her hand from his mouth, Lupin places her palm to his chest, where she can feel his rapidly beating heart beneath his chest. Darcy keeps her hand there for a few seconds before pulling it away, placing it back in her lap. “I never should have said those things to you.”

Darcy doesn’t look away from him. Lupin seems to be expecting something from her, as if preparing himself for her to shout at him, slap him across the face, to curse him — but Darcy doesn’t want to do any of those things. “You really hurt my feelings,” she murmurs, and Lupin looks away, looking increasingly embarrassed. He rubs the back of his neck and then drags his fingers through his hair. “Did you mean any of it?”

Lupin’s eyes meet her’s again, and she’s glad to see he looks uncomfortable. “I know I hurt you, Darcy, and I am so sorry,” he says quietly. “I never meant to hurt you— please, believe me. But— yes, I meant some of it. You deserve someone who could give you everything. Someone young and whole— with their entire life ahead of them to spend with you. Someone who will never be a burden to you, who will be able to care for you, always.”

Darcy considers this. “And what about the other part?” she asks, frowning. “Did you mean that, as well?”

“No,” Lupin answers right away. “I should never have said that, Darcy. Haven’t I proved these past few months that I care about you? I didn’t ask you here tonight because I’m lonely— I asked you here tonight because I—” Lupin trails off, looking at her apologetically. 

“What did you think was going to happen after that night?” Darcy wonders outloud, her tone much kinder and gentler than when Lupin had asked her the question. She’s genuinely curious now, her heart beating just as fast as his had been a few minutes ago when she’d felt it against her hand. Darcy suddenly feels anxious at the thought of Lupin possibly wanting to pursue or explore something with her — the thought that maybe, once she’s not his student —

“I don’t know,” Lupin replies, seeming very unsure about his answer. His eyes flick to her lap, and he slowly reaches out again to take her hand. Darcy lets him, and after he gives her hand a reassuring squeeze, she laces their fingers back together. They smile shyly at each other. “We still have a few weeks together to figure everything out.” He brushes his thumb over her knuckles. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

Lupin shifts, sitting up a little straighter.. “Forgive me if I assume too much…” he begins, looking awkward. “Your decision to return to Hogwarts— you wouldn’t have— I wasn’t part of the reason you turned down a job at the Ministry of Magic to come back here, was I?”

At these words, Darcy gives Lupin a genuine smile, her white teeth flashing at him through the semi-darkness. “I can’t deny that the thought of being able to spend another year with you was tempting,” she confesses, and at once, Darcy notices the color rising in Lupin’s cheeks. “But Harry is the reason I’m coming back. You’re just a— perk, I suppose.”

“A perk?” Lupin smirks. He tugs gently on Darcy’s hand. “Come closer, love.”

Darcy obliges, moving close enough to him to feel the heat radiating off his body. Automatically, Darcy’s free hand reaches up to touch his forehead, to feel for a fever. Lupin closes his eyes when she touches him; his skin is hot to the touch — his forehead, his cheeks, his neck. She suddenly wishes she’d brought something to help, a potion or something to ease the fever. When Darcy pulls her hand away from his face, Lupin’s eyes open again. 

He looks at her for a long time, a soft expression on his tired face. “I wanted you to stay.”

Darcy’s heart skips a beat. “Me too.”

Still holding tight to her hand with his left one, Lupin’s free hand finds Darcy’s face this time. He tucks some of her hair behind her ear, traces the line of her jaw, and finally cups her cheek, letting his thumb brush over her cheekbone. Darcy nuzzles into his palm, shutting her eyes and feeling the heat of his skin against her’s. 

“After all I’ve done to you,” Lupin breathes, causing Darcy’s eyes to open again. “And you still let me touch you.” He runs his fingers through her hair slowly and then lowers his hand to his side again. “Everyone I have ever cared for, everyone I have ever loved, that knew what I am— they flinched away at my touch, seeing me for the monster I am. How long will it take, I wonder, for you to start cringing away from me, as well?”

Darcy watches Lupin, feeling quite sad for him. He closes his eyes again, settling back on the pillows propped against the headboard. Darcy gives his hand another gentle squeeze before she lets go, leaning in towards him. She gives Lupin the softest kiss she’s ever given anyone, an affirmation that she cares for him, because she doesn’t quite know how to say it. When Darcy pulls away, Lupin’s eyes flutter open. And for a moment, there is nothing — the silence presses heavily down around them, and they both seem to be holding their breaths — but Darcy feels as if Lupin understands everything she wants to say. 

But she wants to say it anyway. Darcy’s heart is full to bursting, and she needs to say it now, or else she’ll walk away wishing she had. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Darcy murmurs, “I love you.”

Lupin doesn’t answer immediately, though if Darcy’s being honest, she had never expected him to. But now that she’s said it, now that Lupin knows how much she cares about him, is somewhat freeing. Lupin looks at her for a long time, and then kisses Darcy again — an open-mouthed kiss, loving and tender, and Darcy’s heart is pounding in her ears, her cheeks burn with embarrassment, and she wishes there was music to drown out the sound of them kissing. After a long time, Darcy breaks apart from Lupin, breathless, and she’s glad he doesn’t apologize this time. She moves closer to him, unable to get as close to him as she wants to. Darcy makes her decision in a split second; she moves quickly, putting a knee on either side of his hips, positioning herself in his lap. 

Lupin shifts underneath her, clearing his throat, and the moonlight washes over him, illuminating half of his face; Darcy thinks his cheeks look slightly flushed, but she has the decency to pretend not to notice. However, he doesn’t stop her, doesn’t push her off, but instead sits up a little so Darcy has room to wrap her legs around his middle. Lupin sticks his neck out to kiss her again, and she presses her lips to his for just a moment before pulling away again. Sitting up straighter, Darcy’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, and she pulls her sweater over her head, discarding it on the floor. 

Darcy hears Lupin’s soft, sharp intake of breath, and isn’t surprised to see that his eyes settle on her scarred shoulder before anywhere else. He places his fingers along the scars, and then drags them down her body lazily. Lupin seems hesitant to touch her with more than just the tips of his fingers, but finally settles both hands on her hips, thumbs caressing Darcy’s soft skin. She watches him clench and unclench his jaw, eyes flitting once up and down her body, and then — with surprising strength for a man recovering from a painful transformation — Lupin wraps his arms around Darcy, nearly throwing her from his lap, laying her back on his bed, and propping himself above her. Smiling down at her, Lupin kisses her hard, and Darcy’s stomach flutters with excitement — with each touch, each kiss, each soft sigh, each time their tongues brush for a second, Darcy feels fireworks bursting inside of her. Months of dreaming, of wishing, of wanting him, only to find out he wants her just as badly makes her feel things she’s never felt before in her life.

Lupin kisses Darcy for a long time, until the skin around her mouth is a bright pink from the stubble on his face scratching her, and her lips feel swollen. But she doesn’t want to stop kissing him — she wants to kiss Lupin all through the night, and all through the following morning. He kisses down her throat and across her collarbones, and then pushes the thin strap of her bra aside to look at the scars on her shoulder in their entirety. Running his index finger over them, Lupin looks Darcy in the eyes and she smiles at him; taking her smile for permission, he kisses each of the scars softly before sitting back on his heels. Hesitating only for a second, Lupin lifts his sweater from the bottom, making to pull it over his head, and both he and Darcy chuckle when it gets caught. Darcy helps him give it a sharp tug, and Lupin tosses it to the side as her eyes wash over his torso. 

Darcy had expected this, but it doesn’t make it any less difficult. The sight of Lupin’s flesh momentarily takes her breath away. The scars that mar his skin here are much, much worse than the few scratches on his face. A long, angry scar crosses his left breast horizontally, several inches long; many of the scars on his torso are very like Darcy’s — raised, pink, and smooth. What hair does grow on his chest is patchy, having grown around and between other scars and scratches — scars that make her cringe, thinking about the pain that Lupin must have felt after a transformation, bleeding on the floor of the Shrieking Shack as a boy no older than her.

It’s then that Darcy notices his arms, and she notices that it’s not just scratch marks the size of claws on his arms. On his left forearm is a wide scar the exact size of a werewolf’s mouth, and Darcy can see the clear imprint of where each individual fang had sank into his flesh, this scar much more pronounced than the others on Lupin’s arms and shoulders. 

Darcy suddenly feels a rush of affection for Lupin; she thinks of the shame she feels when others see her shoulder — and here he is, revealing to her years of hardship and struggle and pain, and Darcy wants nothing more than to take him in her arms, to hold him to her while he nuzzles into her chest. 

Propping herself on her elbows, Darcy drinks in the sight of him, settled between her legs, looking down at her in the near darkness. She sits up, pressing her lips to his chest and kissing him over and over again, her shaky hands fumbling with his belt. The corners of Lupin’s lips are turned upwards, and when he looks at Darcy again, he flashes her an easy smile, making her melt. Lupin helps her wriggle out of her pants, leaving her clad in only her underwear, and leaving her feeling incredibly vulnerable. 

Yet Darcy can’t remember ever being part of anything so personal, so intimate. With Oliver, it had never been about a sense of closeness — it was about feeling good for a few minutes, or to feel the rush of adrenaline at the thought that they might be caught. Never have Oliver’s kisses made her toes curl, never have they made chills run down her spine, never have they made her pulse pound in her ears. With every kiss Lupin gives her, Darcy’s head is filled with doubts and lingering fears, with intense feelings of inadequacy, and yet, as Lupin’s fingertips whisper against the inside of her thigh, Darcy thinks:  _ He wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t love me.  _

For what seems like hours, Lupin kisses Darcy everywhere his lips can reach. With every gentle touch, he looks up into her eyes first, as if expecting her to tell him to stop, but she never does — she never would. Never had she felt so cherished, so wanted, so treasured — never has she felt so loved. Lupin smiles against her skin with every kiss, holds her hand with his left hand and touches her with his right. He touches her in places no one has ever touched her, kisses her in places that Darcy hadn’t realized longed to be kissed. 

They continue to undress each other slowly, completely breathless with anticipation, nerves jangling, hearts thundering. And when they’re both almost completely undressed, the only pieces separating them being the thin fabric of their underwear, Lupin kisses down her chest, trailing his lips light down her stomach to the waistband of her underwear. As he curls his fingers inside the waistband, preparing to pull them down, Lupin sighs and rests his forehead against her stomach. He raises his eyes to look up at Darcy, and then places a lingering kiss just below her navel. “We don’t have to do this, Darcy,” he whispers. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

But Darcy knows that it is too late, even if she wanted to change her mind. She and Lupin have done far too much now to forget it ever happened; they’ve done far too much for Darcy to be able to look him in the eyes again if she were to change her mind. Lupin has still kissed her, still touched her, still made her feel ways she’s never known she could feel; Darcy has still ached for him, allowed him to put hands on her knowing full well she shouldn’t have. Yet despite all this, and despite the knowledge that what they’re doing is  _ wrong, _ Darcy can’t bring herself to change her mind. 

_ This is what I’ve wanted, _ Darcy tells herself,  _ and now I’ve got it. _

Darcy runs her fingers along a scar on his shoulder, musses up his hair, relishes the feeling of his hot breath on her skin. “I’m not changing my mind,” she whispers. 

And with an overwhelming tenderness, Lupin eases her underwear down, past her knees, past her ankles, and throws them on the pile of the rest of their discarded clothes. Immediately, Darcy’s cheeks turn bright red as Lupin looks her up and down again. He smiles, chest heaving. Carefully, Lupin helps Darcy up further on the bed, straightening her out so she’s able to lay back on the pillows. He takes a moment to catch his breath, to settle himself between Darcy’s legs. And then, his lips crash against her’s once again, and as Lupin lowers himself, Darcy squirms and breaks the kiss.

Lupin tenses, raising his eyebrows at her. “Something wrong?”

Darcy pauses, managing a weak smile at the sight of his appearance. His cheeks are flushed in earnest now, his hair sticking up straight in the back where Darcy’s fingers had combed through it over and over again. Lupin’s breathing is ragged, but he doesn’t seem annoyed by the interruption, and a wrinkle appears in between his eyebrows as he studies her. “No,” he breathes. “I just— I mean, what if someone catches us?”

“Like who?” Lupin asks, a slight frown on his face. “No one is going to catch us— no one will walk in here.”

“You’re right,” Darcy laughs nervously, her head buzzing. “You’re right, I’m sorry—”

Lupin nods, hesitating before kissing her again. As he goes to lower himself again, Darcy begins to squirm beneath him, and Lupin breaks the kiss, looking both awkward and exasperated. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m sorry,” she rasps, heart fluttering in her chest. “It’s just— you make me so nervous— I’m not usually like this, I just—” Her cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

“Darcy,” Lupin purrs, kissing the crook of her neck softly. “Don’t be nervous— it’s only me. Haven’t I taken care of you so far?” He kisses up her jaw, stopping when he reaches Darcy’s lips. 

“I’m being stupid, is all,” she says, smiling weakly. “I’m so sorry.” Darcy touches Lupin’s cheek, and then brushes his hair out of his face. 

“I don’t think you’re being stupid,” Lupin replies in a low growl, smiling reassuringly at her. He lets her take a moment to compose and ready herself, and then Lupin kisses her again — but before long, Darcy is pulling away, stopping him. Lupin sighs heavily, burying his face in his shoulder, but when he raises his head and looks at her, Darcy is quite glad to see that he’s still smiling. “Darcy, we don’t have to do this. If you’re not— comfortable— I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want to do. But at some point, I am going to need you to make a decision, love.”

Darcy thinks hard. She can’t understand why she’s so nervous, other than the fact that it’s Lupin hovering above her —  _ this is real.  _ As she combs her fingers through his hair, Emily’s words ring in her head as if she’s standing right next to them. 

_ He’s using you. He’s using you to feel close to your parents again.  _

But how could she  _ possibly _ believe that now? How can Darcy believe that when Lupin has done nothing but worship her from the moment she kissed him tonight? He’s loved her in ways she never thought she’d be loved — and all without even saying the words. Her heart nearly bursts with affection for him, and as Lupin goes to sit up, taking her silence as her decision, Darcy throws her arms around his neck and kisses him hard.

Lupin laughs against her lips as she continues to pepper his face with kisses. “Is that— a — yes?”

Darcy murmurs her answer into his warm skin. “Yes.”

Lupin throws her legs over his shoulders with surprising speed, making Darcy giggle, and with one, fluid movement, he’s inside of her, pounding into her at a pace Darcy struggles to keep up with. She tries to wrap her head around the situation, but Darcy can’t think straight — all she can think about is the feeling of Lupin on top of her, inside of her, his fingertips digging into her hips. Closing her eyes, Darcy can only hear Lupin’s ragged panting, the slapping of flesh on flesh, her own heart pounding loud in her ears, as it always does around him. They try to keep quiet, as if afraid someone may be listening nearby, keeping their content sighs to a minimum, biting down hard on their lips to stifle soft moans. 

Darcy’s core starts to tighten, to ache for release, and she bucks her hips, whispering through gritted teeth, “Professor Lupin—”

“Please, don’t—” he groans, his pace quickly becoming irregular, “—not now, please— call me anything— except that, please—”

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, Darcy pulls Lupin close to her, hugging him against her body as he starts to slow down. Their sweaty skin sticks together, and Lupin’s body heat makes her so stiflingly warm, she almost pushes him off just to feel the cool air. Her hips buck again, and Lupin slams into her one last time, sending Darcy over the edge— “Remus—” And before she’s even realized what’s left her mouth, Lupin looks up into her eyes, grinning. 

Darcy flushes, as if calling Lupin by his first name is the worst thing she’s done tonight — as if her teacher hadn’t just finished inside of her — as if she hadn’t  _ enjoyed  _ it. But Lupin doesn’t seem to be irritated by it, on the contrary —

“Say it again,” he mutters, pulling out of her, but leaning in to kiss her. “Say my name again.”

Darcy raises a single eyebrow. “Remus—”

He kisses her again, and Darcy laughs out loud as his lips touch her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her temples — every inch of bare skin on her face. And finally, Lupin nuzzles his face into her neck, staying very still for a few seconds as Darcy combs his hair with her fingers, allowing herself time to realize what they’ve just done. 

Lupin collapses beside her into the bed, clearing his throat and sighing. Darcy watches him, a small smile on her face. Had she thought, when she first met him in September, on the Hogwarts Express, that it would ever come to this? 

_ No _ , she recalls,  _ I never thought I would love him so much — that sickly man on the train.  _

But now, after knowing his touch, after knowing the feel of his lips on her’s, after knowing his laughter and his smile and his kindness and patience and love — Darcy isn’t sure how she’s ever lived life without him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH


	50. Chapter 50

“I was a prefect, you know?”

“You were a prefect?” Darcy smiles, her eyes too heavy to open. The soft pillow and Lupin’s arm underneath her combined with the comforting weight of the blanket thrown over her along with Lupin’s other arm makes her feel safe and tired and she considers for a brief moment never leaving his bed. “Were you a good one?”

“Was I a good one? No, probably not,” Lupin murmurs sleepily, chuckling. He moves slightly so as to rest his cheek against Darcy’s head. “I failed to control the few friends I had— which I’m sure is why Dumbledore gave me the badge in the first place. To keep them out of trouble. But— perhaps that’s a story for another time.”

“Gemma’s a prefect.”

“Gemma’s likely a worse prefect than I was,” Lupin teases. “I’d like to know whose decision it was to give that girl a badge.”

“I think Dumbledore gave it to her to— control her other friends, as you say. It only made her more dangerous, but very useful. For instance, we now have access to the prefects’ bathroom.” Darcy smiles when Lupin laughs against her forehead. She moves closer, resting her cheek against his chest, sleepiness overwhelming her. “Tell me something else I don’t know about you.”

“You already know all my secrets,” Lupin whispers lazily, running his fingers through her hair. “And besides, isn’t my mysterious nature what keeps you coming back to me?”

“I find that hard to believe,” Darcy hums, placing a soft kiss on his chest. “I suppose your  _ mysterious nature _ is interesting, but if you must know, I only come back because I’m really desperate to pass Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Cheeky,” Lupin replies. Darcy opens her eyes for a moment, just to see him smile, and she’s not disappointed. Lupin’s toothy grin is visible in the darkness, and she can still picture it clearly when she closes her eyes again. “I suppose I should be grateful that it’s my class you need so desperately to pass. I don’t think I could bear the thought of watching you fall in love with Professor Snape.”

“Is that what we’re doing?”

“Did you or did you not tell me you love me?” Lupin asks, not unkindly. “And did you or did you not mean it?”

Darcy flushes, and she keeps her eyes shut, hoping Lupin isn’t watching her face turn bright red. “I meant it,” Darcy whispers. “I do love you.”

Lupin stops stroking her hair for a second, kissing her forehead. “Then I must be the luckiest man alive.” The kiss he gives her then makes up for the fact that he doesn’t say it back. Darcy isn’t too bothered — already, he’s shown her enough love that she isn’t about to demand more of it if he’s not ready to give it. 

They lay there for a long time in silence; every so often, one of them runs fingers through the other’s hair, or kisses exposed flesh. Darcy wonders if her friends are worried about her, wonders if they’re waiting to question her about where she’s been. She doesn’t want to go back now — all Darcy wants is to go to sleep with him, to wake up in the morning beside him, to wake him with kisses all over his face. She wants to wake with Lupin’s arm draped around her, holding her close, pressed against his body, legs tangled together. 

“Don’t fall asleep, love.”

“I’m just resting my eyes.”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“I’m not sleeping.”

Darcy opens her eyes, only to find that Lupin’s are still closed. With one of his arms still tucked underneath her head, Lupin traces lazy patterns on her back with his free hand. Some color has returned to his face again, but he still looks exhausted and in need of at least a few hours sleep. As much as she wants him to rest, to feel better, Darcy imagines they’d both sleep much better if they were to sleep next to each other. But she can’t, and they both know that, and soon Darcy knows she’ll have to dress and return to her own dormitory to sleep alone. 

And she also knows that as soon as she steps foot into Lupin’s office, as soon as she starts back towards Gryffindor Tower, things will be different. Here, now, lying in bed with him, Darcy can kiss him, can touch him, hold him — but it will all be over when she leaves. Darcy will be his student again, and both she and Lupin will have to deal with the guilt of defying Dumbledore’s request that they not cross any boundaries. The only thing that gives her hope is the knowledge that she has only weeks left until she’ll no longer be a student — a few weeks left until she’ll be free to do whatever she wants, and if Lupin wants her after she graduates...

With his chest rising and falling slowly and steadily beneath her cheek, Darcy waits a moment until she’s sure Lupin’s actually fallen asleep. She looks up into his face, touches his cheek, brushing hair out of his eyes. She sighs, smiling weakly. Careful not to wake him, Darcy kisses his lips very softly, and slips out of his hold, sliding out of his bed and looking for her clothes on the ground. She feels around blindly in the darkness for her underwear, fumbles with the clasp to her bra only to find out she’s put it on inside out. When she finds all of her clothes and slips her shoes back on her feet, Darcy lingers in the threshold, turning back to look at Lupin one more time — the moonlight shines through the window, bathing him in it. Darcy would give anything to undress again, wriggle back into his arms, and fall asleep, but she turns around and heads back to his office, back through the classroom, grabbing the Invisibility Cloak on her way. 

Outside of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Darcy checks her watch for the first time since she’d left Gryffindor Tower.  _ 1:29.  _ Darcy quickly starts up the many flights of stairs, thankfully not meeting anyone on the way. She wonders, if she were to come across someone, if they’d be able to smell out her guilt, or hear her racing heart. Everything that’s just happened now hits her like a train, and she isn’t sure which is worse —

_ I slept with my teacher,  _ or  _ I slept with my parents’ best friend. _ And then, Darcy cracks a wide grin beneath the cloak at the thought of Lupin kissing her all over, smiling at her all the while, nipping at the more sensitive parts of her skin, his tongue flicking over the most sensitive parts. 

All the way up to Gryffindor Tower, Darcy argues with herself — on one hand, it felt so  _ good _ , but she knows that doesn’t justify what they did. But, if given the chance, would she do it again?  _ Yes — yes, yes, yes.  _

Darcy takes the Invisibility Cloak off just before reaching the Fat Lady, and gives the password. However, the Fat Lady doesn’t let her in right away.

“Who do you think you are?” she hisses, bleary-eyed and still half-asleep. “Do you have any idea what time it is? Who do you think you are, coming back to your common room whenever you like, past curfew—?”

“Can you please just open the door?” Darcy asks exasperatedly, wishing she’d keep her voice down. 

The Fat Lady obliges, but not before giving Darcy a very stern look. Darcy only rolls her eyes and steps into the empty common room, the fire still blazing in the grate. She stretches, pulling the Invisibility Cloak out of the front of her sweater, draping it over her arm. For a moment, she considers falling asleep on the couch, if only to avoid entering the dormitory so late, if only to avoid waking Emily and being forced to answer questions that Darcy is sure will come. And as Darcy takes a step towards the squashy sofa, the heat of the fire reaching her, she stops abruptly at the sight of blonde hair — Emily is knitting furiously, still wide awake.

Emily doesn’t pretend to hide her frustration, doesn’t bother making small talk. “Where’ve you been, Darcy?” she whispers, not looking up from the yellow and black scarf. “It’s nearly two in the morning.”

“I just needed to go see Max,” Darcy lies quickly, trying to sound casual. “I needed some fresh air.”

“Max is in our dormitory, Darcy. He’s been up there for hours, waiting for you to come back,” Emily snaps, lowering her needles and looking over her shoulder at Darcy, looking her up and down. Turning back to her knitting, Emily adds, “You smell like sex.”

Darcy’s heart sinks into her stomach, but she tries not to let it show on her face. “No, I don’t.” Swallowing hard, Darcy makes for the spiral staircase, wanting nothing else but to lay down and go to sleep. 

“What have you done?” Emily asks, her voice very serious, very grave. 

With one foot on the first stair, Darcy turns to look at Emily again, frowning. “What do you mean, ‘what have I done’? I haven’t done anything.”  _ There’s no way she could know. Not from just a single smell. There’s no way.  _

“Where were you, Darcy?” Emily pleads, her face softening. “Please tell me you weren’t with Professor Lupin. Please tell me it’s not what it looks like.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Darcy answers immediately. She takes another step towards the dormitory. As she takes a third step, Darcy calls back to Emily, “Please stop watching me. I can feel you staring.”

“Darcy, he’s using you.”

Freezing, Darcy inhales sharply. She turns around again, stepping back down onto the floor of the common room. Darcy and Emily stare at each other for a few moments; Emily’s face is set, prepared to argue for as long as it takes for Darcy to agree. Darcy merely looks at Emily apologetically, far too tired to even consider what Emily has to say. “He’s not using me,” Darcy whispers, trying to contain her anger. “Would you stop saying that? You have no idea what he says to me in private— you have no idea what we talk about without others around.”

“So you  _ were _ with him?” Emily scoffs. “Tell me, Darcy, what does he say to you in private at one o’clock in the morning?”

Darcy clears her throat, blushing furiously, and as soon as she feels her cheeks begin to burn, she knows that all is lost. “No,” she says weakly, knowing that there is no use in lying anymore. 

Emily raises her eyebrows, knitting so fast and so violently, that Darcy is sure she’ll rip the scarf. “ _ No _ ,” she repeats in a dangerous voice. “Didn’t do much talking tonight, did you?”

“Emily—” Darcy scowls, trying so hard to contain her anger — just make it upstairs — just ignore her— “What is it to you who I fuck, Emily? You’re not my mother.”

Emily throws her scarf and needles and yarn onto the table in front of her, getting to her feet. She looks deadly, colder than Darcy’s ever seen her before. Her presence is suddenly very commanding, as if even the crackling fire has yielded to her. “Seven years we’ve been friends, Darcy,” she hisses. “Seven years I have cared for you, tried to keep you from getting hurt—”

“I never needed your protection!” Darcy retorts, his voice rising two octaves and her face pink. “I never asked for your help! I love you, Emily, and I know that you only want the best for me, but I need you to stop treating me like a  _ child. _ I can make my own decisions—”

“You're throwing your entire life away for a quick fuck—”

Darcy grinds her jaw, rage coursing through her. She tries to reason with herself, truly —  _ Emily doesn’t understand, she doesn’t know what it’s really like.  _ All she wants to do is shake Emily, shake sense into her. “Stop.”

Emily shuts her mouth tight, raising her eyebrows to her hairline. 

Darcy’s head is starting to throb, and all of the joy that she’d felt only a half hour ago is completely drained from her. She suddenly feels  _ sad _ , and even her anger towards Emily subsides for a minute. But she will not allow Emily’s words to hurt her — she will not allow Emily’s words to burrow in her brain, consume her thoughts. Lupin had kissed her all over, had been so gentle and delicate with his touches, had fallen asleep holding her. Darcy shakes her head, looking at Emily with a soft expression. “I love him,” she whispers, shrugging her shoulders, unsure of what else to say. “So, go on— which teacher are you going to run to? McGonagall or Dumbledore?”

Emily looks back at Darcy, stone-faced. “That’s a child’s answer,” she finally says. “You have no regard for the consequences of your actions— no regard for the fact that you could not only ruin your life, but  _ his _ , as well!”

But Darcy, not failing to notice Emily’s lack of an answer to her question, decides to press her bluff, feeling much more confident suddenly about Emily’s loyalty. “You want what’s best for me— you won’t tell a teacher.” 

Emily’s face turns, if possible, even colder. Her eyes flash with anger, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ll tell Mr. Weasley,” she answers. “You won’t listen to me, but maybe you’ll listen to—”

“Emily!”

“What am I supposed to do, Darcy? Ignore the fact that you fucked your te—”

And before Darcy even realizes her wand is in her hand, pointed at Emily, a blue flash of light sends Emily stumbling over the coffee table. She catches herself quickly and picks her wand up off the ground; Darcy produces a Shield Charm just in time to prevent Emily’s oncoming spell from hitting her. Darcy flicks her wand again, but Emily ducks behind the sofa and the sofa absorbs Darcy’s spell. Darcy breathes heavily for a moment, taking a step towards Emily —

“ _ Expelliarmus _ !” Emily shouts, popping up to her feet again, but Darcy blocks it again just in time, and the spell ricochets off the Shield Charm and hits one of the bookshelves instead; the books begin to fall from the highest shelves, collapsing on the ground with a loud clatter.

With Emily momentarily distracted, Darcy gives her wrist another quick flick, but Emily does the same thing at the same time — both of their Disarming Spells fire and meet in the middle, and both of their wands fly out of their hands, falling out of reach. Emily dives for her wand, which is much closer, and Darcy dives for Emily, grabbing her just before she wraps her fingers around her wand. 

“Get off!” Emily shrieks, elbowing Darcy hard in the nose. 

There’s a crunching noise, Darcy cries out, tasting the blood running from her nose to her mouth. “Stop!” she shouts, one hand holding her bleeding nose, and the other trying to keep Emily from reaching the wand. It rolls farther and farther from reach, and as Emily squirms, Darcy fist catches her in the mouth on accident. Furious, and now sporting a split lip, Emily punches Darcy back, the couple of rings on her fingers breaking skin just above Darcy’s right eyebrow. “Emily, quit it! I’m sorry— stop moving!”

“You tried to hex me!” Emily snarls. “You made me bleed!”

“You gave me a bloody nose!”

“My lip is bleeding!” Emily growls, elbowing Darcy in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. “Now get  _ off _ of—”

“ _ What is the meaning of this _ ?”

Darcy and Emily freeze, looking around. Too busy fighting, neither of them had realized the noise had attracted an audience of tired and dazed onlookers, most of them older students. And in the portrait hole, white-faced and tight lipped and panting, is Professor McGonagall, her eyes on Darcy’s gushing nose. Darcy quickly sits up, wiping her nose on the sweater Emily had knitted for her years ago, soaking the sleeve with blood. Emily snatches her wand off the floor, drawing McGonagall’s gaze. 

“I am— I am—” McGonagall struggles to find words, shaking slightly. “ _ Muggle _ fighting— two-thirty in the morning— all of you, bed!” She glances menacingly at the crowd of students huddled by the stairs, and they instantly retreat back up to their dormitories. She waits for all the doors to shut before continuing. “You two better have a  _ very _ good explanation for this—”

Darcy wipes her nose again, looking at Emily. Emily looks back at her. And despite everything, Darcy feels a rush of gratitude and affection towards her friend. She knows that Emily isn’t going to tell McGonagall anything. 

“You have  _ nothing  _ to say for yourselves?” McGonagall snaps, becoming increasingly more shrill. “Seven years you have been friends and now, in the wee hours of the night, one of you has a severe nosebleed and the other has a split lip! Lying on the ground, wrestling like animals! This must be the most disgusted I have ever—  _ fifty _ points from Gryffindor— I want you both down in the hospital wing immediately and I  _ will  _ be seeing you both tomorrow morning to discuss this further. Do not think I will stop at taking points— unbelievable, dishonorable— now, _ go _ .”

Emily barrels past McGonagall, but Darcy first stoops to grab her wand hidden beneath a table. McGonagall steps out of the portrait hole after Emily, giving Darcy enough time to grab the Invisibility Cloak where it had fallen after Darcy pulled her wand out. She hides it safely behind a shelf and follows Emily and McGonagall out the portrait hole. McGonagall walks them both down in silence, her nostrils flaring. She opens the door a little too loudly, waking Madam Pomfrey immediately. 

“Potter? Duncan? Professor McGonagall?”

Despite being awoken so late and abruptly, Madam Pomfrey seems quite alert as she bustles out to meet them. Darcy scans the infirmary, but no one is there except for the four of them, now standing in a circle. “Fighting, Poppy,” McGonagall explains curtly, before turning to Darcy and Emily. Darcy pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to stop the bleeding, but it still flows, and she’s starting to feel lightheaded. “You two will  _ not  _ be late for class tomorrow morning, and you’ll stay after so we can handle your punishment. And so help me— if I ever catch you fighting again— with wands or without— I will be talking to Professor Dumbledore.”

Madam Pomfrey hurries Darcy and Emily into separate beds, right next to each other. She tries to get the girls to talk, to tell the truth about why they had been fighting, but both Darcy and Emily stay silent, thoroughly annoying Madam Pomfrey. However, she does get Darcy’s nose to stop bleeding right away with a small amount of potion, and also gives her a Blood-Replenishing Potion, just to make sure. After looking both Darcy and Emily over once more, to check for any serious injuries, Madam Pomfrey hurries back over to her office, leaving them alone in the darkness. 

Darcy glances over at Emily, feeling quite sorry for trying to hex her. Emily leans back on her pillow, staring up at the ceiling, touching her swollen lip every so often. “What’s happening to us?” Darcy asks softly. “I don’t want to fight, Emily— not again. I’m tired.”

Emily’s eyes find Darcy’s face. “What you did was really fucking stupid, you know that, right?”

Darcy flushes deep red. Of course she knows how stupid sleeping with Lupin was — but she had wanted it for so long, it would have killed Darcy if she’d changed her mind. Darcy turns away from Emily, looking down into her lap, pulling the blankets up to her chest and trying to ignore the pounding in her temple. 

“You lied to me, Darcy,” Emily whispers. “You told me I had nothing to worry about— that you would never act on your feelings. You lied to me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Darcy says. “But what was I supposed to do? Look at how you reacted— that’s exactly why I lied.”

“You know I wouldn’t tell Mr. Weasley,” Emily sighs. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you. I don’t want anything to happen to you. But please— for me— just… think about it. Just try to see it from my point of view— I mean, you have to admit that the idea of him sleeping with his friends’ daughter is a little— weird.”

“I know what it must look like,” Darcy confesses softly. “I know that it must seem strange to you, but— please, trust me— I know he cares about me.”

Emily is quiet for a moment. “I’m going to sleep. My mouth hurts.”

Darcy closes her own eyes, and then opens them immediately. “Do you think if we pretend we’ve made up, McGonagall will forget giving us detentions?”

“Darcy, that has got to be the stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” Emily replies, and Darcy shrugs. “You know she’s giving us detentions no matter what, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And she’ll probably write to my parents and Mr. Weasley.”

“Yeah.”

A heavy silence falls over them, and Darcy wishes Emily would speak, if only to fill it. As soon as she closes her eyes, images of Lupin flood her mind — images of him above her, his easy smile, his tousled hair, looking a young man again. She inhales deeply, smiling to herself, feeling warm between her legs, and still slightly sore. 

“I’m sorry,” Emily breathes, and her voice brings Darcy back to reality. “You do so much, Darcy— you’ve been so good to Harry all these years, you’ve done anything Hermione and Ron have asked you— and you’ve done so much for me and for Carla and for Gemma, and— it’s my job to care for you in return, and how do I know that he won’t hurt you? How do I know he’s not using you?”

“He takes care of me, Emily,” Darcy answers, feeling butterflies erupting in her stomach. “It’s not your job, and it shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t have to worry about me.”

“Of course I worry about you.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” Darcy insists quietly. She pauses, looking at Emily in the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust to see the sillouhette of her friend. “I don’t want to be lonely anymore.”

“You’ve got us, your friends.”

Darcy shakes her head slowly. “It’s different. I like the way he makes me feel.”

“You always were a romantic, Darcy,” Emily says, laughing more to herself than anything. And then, Emily’s bed creaks and Darcy watches as she stands up and makes her way over to Darcy’s bed. Darcy moves over to the edge of the bed and Emily climbs in beside her. In less than three minutes, both of them are fast asleep. 

* * *

 

“Detention everyday next week for both of us—  _ ouch _ —”

“Sorry, sweetheart, but if I told you it was going to hurt, you wouldn’t have let me do it.”

Lupin tips the small vial upside down and the last few drops of the potion drip onto the damp cloth. Lupin puts the empty vial down and presses the cloth to the cut over Darcy’s eyebrow again. It stings, but Darcy doesn’t pull away. “It’s just a small cut— Madam Pomfrey already did all of this, you know—”

“Let me feel useful, all right?” Lupin pulls the cloth away and brushes his finger over top of the cut. “Besides, I’m quite good at this kind of stuff after years of tending my own wounds.” He puts the cloth on the table, beside the remnants of their half-finished lunches, picking up some tiny bandages and ripping them in half again with his teeth. “What were you fighting about, anyway?”

“Stupid stuff.”

“That’s it? No explanation? Just stupid stuff?” He places the bandages over her eyebrow, leaning back to admire his own handiwork. 

“Please don’t make me explain right now.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Lupin doesn’t seem upset by her unwillingness to share, and Darcy feels extremely grateful. “When have I ever made you do anything you didn’t want to?”

“You’ve never made me do anything I didn’t want to.” Darcy frowns. “Do I look ridiculous?”

“A little.” Lupin smiles at her. “You look fine.”

Darcy sighs, touching her now bandaged cut. She checks her watch and quickly grabs her bag off the ground. “I should go— I’ll be late for Charms.” 

Lupin watches her walk to the door, and when she has one foot in his office, he calls out, “Darcy,” and she stops, turning to look at him, still seated on the sofa. “Dinner tomorrow night.”

Raising an eyebrow, Darcy smiles. “Are you asking if I’d like dinner tomorrow, or are you telling me I’d like dinner?”

He considers her, a smirk playing at his lips. “I’m telling you. Dinner tomorrow night.”

“All right,” she beams at him, “Dinner tomorrow night.”

Lupin’s eyes flick up and down Darcy’s body. Then, he gives her a toothy grin. “I look forward to it.”


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've had 3/4 of this chapter written for weeks!!!

Despite Emily’s polite attitude towards Darcy on Saturday, Darcy can’t help but feel humiliated every time Emily looks at her. The sheer knowledge that Emily knows what she and Lupin did is enough to keep her on edge, yet Gemma and Carla make no snide comments, jokes, or anything that hints Emily had told them. The four of them eat breakfast in the courtyard, laughing as if nothing is amiss, talking freely and flipping through pages of their books, studying for their upcoming exams. When they ask what happened to Darcy’s and Emily’s faces, Emily replies, without looking up, “We were practicing our non-verbal spells.”

Carla laughs out loud, but Gemma only smiles and shakes her head. 

After lunch, many of the students go outside to enjoy the spring weather. The sky is cloudless, a bright sun shining on the green grounds, making the inside of the castle quite warm. Darcy decides to leave her friends when they suggest studying by the lake, and instead makes her way back up to Gryffindor Tower, hoping for some peace and quiet. Being around people has become overwhelming the past few days, and Darcy — even though she knows she’s being ridiculous — feels as if everyone can read her mind, as if they all know she’s done with her teacher. She knows that people aren’t looking at her because they know what she did, they’re likely look at her because of the scene she and Emily had made in the common room, but even so — there’s an air of suspicion that Darcy finds unsettling; Darcy and Emily have never fought before, and it makes people curious, wondering what could have possibly happened between them. Though no one seems to brave enough to ask, except for one Gryffindor, who is in the common room with Hermione and Ron when Darcy enters it, sighing loudly in relief. 

The four of them are the only ones in the common room, and Darcy grabs her Transfiguration homework from her dormitory before seating herself beside Hermione before the table, Harry and Ron on the sofa across from them. She can feel Harry’s eyes on her as she opens her book, and she can feel his gaze three minutes later, when she finds the answer to her homework’s first question. She scribbles it down on the parchment and then looks up at Harry.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Darcy says. “Go on— say it. Don’t be shy.”

Harry sits up immediately. “What were you and Emily fighting about? Where did you go that night? Is that why Emily was mad? I told her I didn’t know where you were.”

“I’m going to tell you one time, Harry, and one time only,” she answers calmly. “It’s none of your business.”

“Were you with Professor Lupin?” Harry asks again, and this question gets Hermione and Ron’s attention, as well. 

Darcy glances to her left, at Hermione, who seems to have moved closer to her. Then she starts to flip through her book again and says, “I told you it’s none of your business.”

She buries her face in her book, hoping that she hasn’t given anything away. Harry already knows too much, and she regrets telling him anything now. And if he had told his friends all Darcy had said, wouldn’t Hermione know? Wouldn’t Hermione be able to guess what had happened that made Emily so angry? 

She wonders what Harry would say if she told him — he hadn’t seemed very upset when Darcy told him about Lupin before, but this is different — this is more than hand-holding, more than a hug, more than a kiss. She imagines Harry would be disgusted with her, angry at her inability to restrain herself. But she hadn’t intended to sleep with Lupin when she’d gone to see him — the thought hadn’t crossed her mind as she left the Gryffindor common room that night. All she wanted was to be close to Lupin, to talk to him, to hear his gentle words of reassurance — and instead, she had found she couldn’t be close enough, so she did the only reasonable thing any lonely, hormonal, desperately in love, teenage girl would do — she fucked him. 

Part of her is privately very glad she hasn’t had a Defense Against the Dark Arts class since that night. Yet seeing Lupin in the corridors, at mealtimes, in his apartments during lunch the previous day, things seemed normal. He had smiled at her, always his easy and cool smile. Lupin hadn’t brought up what they’d done while they were alone together, hadn’t made any passes at her, or tried to kiss her or touch her, and Darcy’s quite glad for that, as well. Looking him in the face hadn’t been as difficult as Darcy had expected it to be the first time. So comfortable with Lupin is Darcy that sleeping with him has barely affected their relationship at all, except now Darcy knows he cares for her in all the ways she had wanted him to. 

But Darcy needs to talk about it. She needs to get it out, scream it to the world — she wants everyone to know how much she loves him, and in that sense, Darcy still feels relatively lonely. She had flirted with the idea of telling Harry at first, but something about talking about her sex life with her thirteen-year-old brother had seemed inappropriate and gross and highly uncomfortable, so Darcy decided she’d rather keep the secret to herself. She had thought then of talking to Emily — Emily had been so upset Darcy lied to her, she thought maybe telling her the complete truth would make her happy. But she can’t bring herself to tell Emily, either. 

After studying for a few hours by the warm fire, Darcy decides to do a lap around the wing, hoping it’ll wake her up. As she reaches the portrait of the Fat Lady again, Gemma’s walking down the corridor towards her. With a huge smile and a wave, Gemma jogs up to meet her outside the entrance to the common room. 

It’s a sweet relief to catch Gemma alone. Gemma, who won’t ask questions, who won’t bring up anything about the cut above her eyebrow, who only smiles at her and runs a hand through her dark hair. “It’s fucking hot outside,” she says cheerfully. 

“Not much better in front of the fire,” Darcy replies. 

“I’d welcome a fire in our common room. It’s freezing in there sometimes. What are you doing, anyway, besides sneaking around the corridor?”

“Needed a minute to refresh my brain. I was bound to explode after doing that Charms homework.”

Gemma chuckles. 

It’s then that Darcy wonders what Gemma would say if she were to tell her. Gemma and Darcy have grown quite close over the past year, and Darcy knows that Gemma has nothing against Lupin — as far as Darcy knows, the pair of them get on quite well. Gemma had teased Darcy before about being in love with Lupin — had teased Darcy about Lupin wanting to fuck her, even if Darcy hadn’t really believed it. But as Darcy stares at Gemma, Gemma raises her eyebrows and laughs. Whatever Gemma were to say, it couldn’t be as bad as what Emily thinks, right?

“What’s up, Darcy?”

“Do you think we could talk?”

“Sure.” There's a slight pause, and Gemma leans forward. “Now?”

Darcy hesitates and tucks her hair back out of her face, behind her ears. “Well, I’m kind of having dinner with Professor Lupin tonight— and please don’t tell Emily—”

“Understood,” Gemma nods, flashing Darcy a brilliant smile. “Is this a conversation that will require alcohol?”

“Yes, and please— don’t invite anyone else.”

“You’re making me nervous,” Gemma says, but she looks excited nonetheless. “Meet me at nine-thirty outside my common room and bring the cloak. Now, let’s go outside— get you some sun.”

* * *

Legs draped over Lupin’s lap, Darcy threads some string through the small needle hole, biting down hard on her lip in concentration. And finally, it goes through, and Darcy smiles up at Lupin triumphantly, pressing the needle through the thick fabric of Lupin’s patched shirt. Her hands move deftly and quickly, and even though she hasn’t done this in a long time, the skill comes back to her quite easily and naturally. Years of darning Dudley’s old clothes and hemming Petunia’s old ones, and Darcy is quite glad, at this moment, she hasn’t forgotten how to do it. While the color of the string doesn’t quite match the color of the shirt, her expert needlework makes up for it.

Lupin has a large book resting on her shins, a stack of homework balancing precariously beside him. Darcy is careful not to move her legs, not wanting to tip over the inkwell that sits upon the book. Lupin dips his quill in it, grading the homework almost lazily, every so often touching Darcy’s knee or thigh distractedly. On the coffee table in front of the fire, what remains of their dinners are pushed towards the edge of the table; old clothing, essays and extra quills, miscellaneous books, and two half-full bottles of butterbeer cover the rest of the surface. Incredibly full and sleepy, Darcy forces herself to stay awake, slightly anxious about her meeting with Gemma in only a few hours. 

After fifteen minutes of silence, Darcy hears Lupin sigh heavily and she looks up. He’s rubbing his eyes, and he stoppers the inkwell suddenly, moving it, along with the book and homework, back to the table in front of him. Lupin places a hand on Darcy’s thigh, keeping her legs in place over his lap, and leans back into the sofa, closing his eyes for a moment before looking at her with a small smile. Darcy returns it. “I’m glad you came tonight,” Lupin mutters, rubbing his eyes furiously with his knuckles. 

“You made it quite clear I was to come tonight,” Darcy reminds him, looking back down into her lap, pulling tight on the thread and pushing it through the fabric again. “Not that I’d have refused had you actually asked.”

“Tell me something,” Lupin says, turning slightly in his seat to face her while still keeping her legs over him. Darcy hums in response, waiting for him to continue. He looks at her for a long time. “I was curious about your owl— Max, you said, yes?”

Darcy looks up slowly, stifling laughter. “What about Max? What have you done with him?”

“Nothing— nothing I’ve done, I hope,” Lupin replies. “Does he listen well to you?”

“Yes, he listens well. He’s a very good owl. Why? What’s happened?”

Lupin, smiling sheepishly, extends his fingers, and Darcy sees the small cuts all over his fingers. Darcy blushes, feeling terrible. “I was hoping— next time you see him— perhaps you could tell him to stop pecking at my fingers? It’s like he can pick me out of a large crowd… have you been telling him lies about me?”

“No!” Darcy laughs, returning to her sewing once again. “I haven’t been telling him lies about you. He’s quite affectionate, really. Part of the reason I love him so much. But— yes, I will make sure Max is aware that he is not to peck at your fingers.” She glances at Lupin’s hands again, frowning. “Sorry.”

“Much appreciated.”

“You look so much better,” she says, lowering the shirt in her hands to take a short break. Her wrists ache. “I worry about you.”

“Love, how many times do I have you remind you— I’m used to it by now. I can handle myself after years of transformations.” Lupin laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You worry too much.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Lupin adds quickly, patting her thigh reassuringly, brushing his thumb over top of her pants. Darcy feels her skin grow warm there, despite his thumb not actually touching her flesh. “In fact, I think it’s rather endearing. But Darcy, you do not need to worry about me.”

“As if that’s going to make me less worried,” she jokes half-heartedly. Darcy puts the shirt and sewing equipment on top of the pile of clothes on the table, and then reaches for his hand. Lupin laces their fingers together, squeezing her hand gently. Her weak smile fades quickly, and she finally builds up the courage to ask him, “Are we going to talk about what happened?”

Lupin doesn’t falter, only keeps smiling. He pulls her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “What is there to talk about? I hope you haven’t suddenly decided it was awful.”

“No, of course not,” Darcy chuckles, blushing slightly. “I just— I don’t know— I don’t want things to change, I mean— I like this.”

“Nothing has to change, Darcy,” he whispers, kissing her fingers again before letting go of her hand. “I like this, too.”

Darcy smiles a small smile. “Can we read?”

“Pick a book.”

Getting to her feet, Darcy approaches the mantle and picks the first book she can reach, not caring which book it is as long as she can hear Lupin reading it to her. She hands the novel to Lupin and sits down beside him again, and instead of laying her legs over his lap, Darcy settles herself close to him, wrapping her hands around his arm as he opens the book to the first page. Resting her head on his shoulder, Darcy closes her eyes as he begins the first chapter. 

An overwhelming sense of peace overcomes Darcy at the sound of his voice, at her full stomach, at the feeling of his shoulder beneath her cheek. She can’t remember the last time her heart has even been so full of love, can’t remember the last time her head has been so clear. Darcy wishes she could fall asleep here, with him beside her, just as they’d done weeks ago. Darcy opens her eyes again, looking up into his face, and when Lupin notices she’s staring up at him, he smiles and turns his head.

“Are you going to stare at me the entire time?” Lupin asks, laughing. “How am I supposed to read when I have such a beautiful girl inches away from me?”

Darcy flushes. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Lupin looks back at his book, eyes scanning the page to find where he left off. “Don’t be ridiculous, Darcy, you know you’re beautiful.”

Darcy chews the inside of her cheek, grinning. Her eyes find his lips, and as he opens his mouth to keep reading, she blurts out, “Can I kiss you? Just once?”

He closes the book this time, keeping his thumb tucked between the pages to mark his spot. Turning to her again, Lupin eyes flick to her lips and back up to her eyes. “What makes you think I would ever answer that with anything other than ‘yes’?” he teases. “Though, I thought you wanted me to read to you— I can’t see how we’ll just very far into this book—”

“I can kiss other places than your mouth,” Darcy breathes, reaching up to place a single kiss on his neck. She sees Lupin’s smile widen as he continues to read outloud. All she wants to do is kiss him again and again, kiss him until she’s left him feeling so incredibly loved that he’ll never feel lonely again. But she knows that after what has happened, they should probably be careful about overstepping boundaries. _Only a few weeks left and I can kiss him as much as I want — as long as he wants me to._ _And he will._

As time slips by too quickly for Darcy’s liking, she starts to prepare herself for her conversation with Gemma. She knows the best thing to do is just to be honest with her. Gemma would never tell a teacher, would she? Gemma, one of Darcy’s closest friends, would not get Darcy or Lupin in trouble, would she? She’s glad there will be alcohol — Darcy isn’t sure that she’d be able to have that conversation without it to loosen her tongue. 

The next time Darcy checks her watch, it’s nearly time to go down to the Slytherin common room. Darcy murmurs an apology into Lupin’s skin as she gives the crook of his neck a final kiss, and he walks her to the door, his hand on the small of her back as he ushers her into his office. He stands in the threshold as she leaves, leaning against the doorframe and watching her cross the classroom. Darcy looks over her shoulder at him as she slips through the door, and she has to return after he’s stopped watching so she can get the Invisibility Cloak. 

Gemma’s exiting the common room stealthily when Darcy reaches the cool corridor. She jumps at the sight of Darcy’s head, appearing to be floating in midair, and they both laugh quietly as Darcy throws the Invisibility Cloak over the both of them. Gemma leads the way, taking Darcy up the prefects bathroom and uttering the password. They both peek inside first, making sure it’s empty, and then Gemma tears the cloak off and closes the door behind her with her foot. 

“All right,” Gemma says, clearing her throat and pulling two slim bottles of wine out of the front of her pants, and a flask out from her bra. Darcy can’t believe she didn’t realize Gemma had bottles down her pants, but shakes the thought off and stashes the cloak near the door. “Are you about to tell me why you and Emily were actually fighting? And don’t give me that same shit excuse Emily did.” As she turns on the bath water, Gemma looks back at Darcy’s face, looking very seriously at the cut above her eyebrow. “Looks like her rings got you good.”

Darcy doesn’t answer, but Gemma doesn’t press her. As the tub continues to fill with water and multi-colored bubbles, Gemma begins to undress, stripping down to nothing but her bra and underwear. Darcy suddenly feels very self-conscious, not wanting to show off the scars on her shoulder when talking about how good Lupin has been to her. But then she remembers what Lupin’s body had looked like, even in the darkness — she remembers the deep scars that have probably been present for nearly two decades, remembers the way she’d loved them anyway, because they are his. This thought encourages Darcy, and she starts to strip down, as well, leaving her shirt for last. To her relief, Gemma only looks at her shoulder for a quick moment and doesn’t ask questions as Darcy gets down into the bath, seated across from Gemma. 

“Well— what are we drinking, my love?” Gemma sighs happily, showing off her selection of alcohol. “I have a lovely red I confiscated off a fifth year, a sweet wine that I confiscated off a sixth year, and a flask of the Hog’s Head’s best firewhiskey.  _ Oh—  _ and—” Gemma picks up her wand from the side of the tub and points it at her pile of clothing. Something wriggles from the back pocket of her discarded jeans, and a pack of cigarettes zooms through the air towards her; Gemma catches the pack in her hand and offers one to Darcy before taking one herself, lighting them both with her wand. 

“Sweet wine,” Darcy grunts in response, taking a long drag off her cigarette. As she looks down at the smoke rising in the hair and swirling around her head, Darcy wonders briefly what Aunt Petunia would say if she could see Darcy now — fucking her teacher (though, if she knows Petunia, Darcy imagines Petunia would be more horrified about Lupin being friends with her mother and father), drinking in a bathroom in nothing but her underwear, smoking cigarettes. Before she can dwell on the thought, it disappears as Gemma opens the bottle of wine.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Gemma chuckles, summoning two cups from thin air with her wand and pouring each of them to the very top. Darcy takes her glass, careful not to slosh any over the side and into the water. “How was dinner with Lupin?”

“Fine,” Darcy answers automatically. Gemma nods, sipping at her wine and flicking the ash off her cigarette on the floor of the bathroom. “It was fine.”

They carry casual conversation for a little while as they drink their first glasses of wine, talking about classes, venting about McGonagall and the insane amount of work she’s been setting to the seventh years. Gemma talks for a few minutes of her upcoming training and position at St. Mungo’s, and her excitement transfers directly to Darcy, whose cheeks feel slightly flushed due to the wine. Once Gemma runs out of things to say, Darcy exhales through her nose, reaching out one hand for a new cigarette and extending her other in order for Gemma to refill her glass. 

With a cigarette between her lips and a glass of wine in her hand, Darcy starts to feel more nervous than she’s felt all night. Her stomach churns, her heart hammers inside her chest, but Gemma only smiles at her, waiting for Darcy to begin. However, Darcy only opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water. 

“What is this about, Darcy?” Gemma asks gently. “You know that you shouldn’t be nervous about talking to me. What’s going on?”

“Well—” Darcy stammers, unsure if she really wants to tell Gemma or not, but she’s so close — she knows it would feel  _ so good _ to get it off her chest. “I mean— it’s about Professor Lupin—”

Gemma nods, sitting up straight, leaning in slightly towards Darcy and taking the last drag of her cigarette. “Go ahead, Darcy.” Her eyebrows are raised a little bit, and Darcy finds her mouth is suddenly too dry to speak.

Draining her glass and then nearly gagging at the taste of all the wine, Darcy calms herself. “I— Professor Lupin—” she holds her face in her hands, dragging her fingers through her hair. “Oh, Gemma— Professor Lupin—”

“Darcy, just say it.”

“I slept with Professor Lupin. Thursday night.” Darcy says it very fast, feeling her face burn bright with shame as she does so.

Darcy watches Gemma’s face carefully. Gemma looks at Darcy with a very confused expression on her face for a moment, furrowing her brow, pursing her lips. She seems as if she’s struggling to comprehend what Darcy’s just confessed to, and Darcy prepares herself for the worst — and then, Gemma laughs out loud, leaning back in the tub and continuing to laugh and laugh. Darcy isn’t sure whether or not to laugh with her. “Holy  _ shit,  _ Darcy— I thought you were going to tell me that he’s a werewolf,” Gemma cackles, finally calming herself down. 

“No, I—” Darcy stops dead, looking up into Gemma’s smiling face. “How do you know he’s a werewolf?”

Gemma laughs again. “You were my partner third year in Defense for our werewolf unit, remember?” she asks, and Darcy nods. “Anyway, he’s always ill at the full moon. I mean, it’s not like it’s difficult to figure it out, right?” Gemma glances at Darcy’s shoulder again, not asking for clarification, but smiling knowingly. 

Darcy covers the scars on her shoulder with her hand, distracted by Gemma’s sudden reveal. “And you aren’t— afraid of him?”

Gemma pauses, looking into Darcy’s eyes thoughtfully, as if trying to choose the right words carefully. “When I first figured it out, I was— hesitant, I suppose,” she explains. “Truthfully, I know very little about werewolves, despite what we’ve learned in class. But what little experience I have with them is enough to make anyone hesitant, I think.”

“You know another werewolf?” Darcy asks quickly, intrigued. The conversation she’d planned to have with Gemma slips her mind. She’s suddenly reminded of how little she knows about Gemma’s personal and home life. 

“Yes, I know another werewolf.” Gemma’s face turns uncharacteristically grave, and she lowers her voice. “You know that my parents are well known for their galas, fundraisers, get-together, what have you?” Truthfully, Darcy hadn’t known this, but she nods anyway. “During summers, they have guests quite frequently, but they would never let me attend. I had to make do with spying from the top of the staircases for years, but when I was sixteen, my parents finally agreed that I was old enough to attend.” Gemma smiles weakly. “I was so excited— I picked out the prettiest dress, and mother did my hair just the way I liked it. When the night of the gala came, I observed all the courtesies— I mingled and charmed our guests, offered them food and beverages. One of our guests, however, was a werewolf.”

Darcy cocks an eyebrow suspiciously. “How did you know so quickly?”

Gemma looks uncomfortable, and she shifts in the water, lighting another cigarette and drinking deeply from her glass. “Are you familiar with Fenrir Greyback, Darcy?”

She shakes her head, trying to recall if she’s ever heard that name or not. But Darcy can’t place a face to the name. “No, I don’t think so.”

Gemma laughs darkly. “If you knew of Fenrir Greyback, you would never forget him,” Gemma whispers. Darcy leans in closer to her friend. “Fenrir Greyback is a savage beast. There is little human left in him, I think. I had never seen a werewolf before, only pictures in our textbooks, but Fenrir Greyback is like a man trapped in limbo between his human form and wolf form. Ugly, vapid, incredibly violent, and crude— the sight of him gave me nightmares for week.”

“But how is that possible? Professor Lupin looks completely normal.”

Gemma licks her lips, swallowing hard. “Fenrir Greyback is vile— he’s evil. I’d be surprised if there’s any humanity at all left in him,” she continues. “He is the worst kind of werewolf— he purposefully positions himself close to children during the full moon in order to easily seek them out and bite them. His goal in life is to bite and turn as many children— as many people— as possible. And I’ve heard rumors that he’s not only waiting until the full moon anymore, but that he’s actually eating his victims now— he’s developed a taste for flesh, full moon or not.”

Darcy feels a sickness wash over her that has nothing to do with the alcohol. 

“I remember him clearly at the gala,” Gemma rasps, and Darcy looks back at her, horrified. “My parents were furious that he’d shown his face at our home, but they allowed him to stay, afraid that he’d retaliate and bite me if they forced him to leave. He approached me, but still, my parents were too afraid to intervene, and I was terrified.” Gemma takes another deep breath. “Fenrir Greyback was and is a vile and perverted creature— I remember he asked if he could have a taste of my pretty flesh, and afterwards, I locked myself in my bedroom and cried all night. I dreamt of his face for weeks, I was so afraid of him.”

Darcy can’t look away from Gemma, can’t unsee the horror in her friend’s face. She remembers the fear she had felt in the Shrieking Shack when she had encountered Lupin, how she’d closed her eyes and waited for the bite to come, to change her, to ruin her — but it never did come. She wonders if that’s how Gemma had felt around Fenrir Greyback. “That’s awful, Gemma,” Darcy whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Gemma shakes her head, slowly regaining her usual demeanor. “I don’t feel that fear around Professor Lupin,” Gemma says. Darcy winces, ashamed of herself for once being afraid of him. “Does he seem the kind of man to purposefully bite children? To eat flesh? To hurt people?”

Darcy answers immediately. “No.”

“No,” Gemma repeats, nodding in agreement with Darcy. “He doesn’t seem that kind of man to me, either. He has been good to you, Darcy, and to Harry, and even to me.” She opens the flask of firewhiskey, taking a long drink from it and offering it to Darcy. “He did that to your shoulder, and you aren’t afraid of him?”

“No,” Darcy answers confidently. “I know he would never hurt me if he could help it.”

“If you’re not afraid of him, why should I be?”

Darcy isn’t sure how to answer.

“Was he gentle with you?”

“Yes, of course,” Darcy replies, breathless at the very thought of that night. She drinks from the flask, the firewhiskey burning her throat. 

“Did he force you to do anything you didn’t want to do?”

“No— it was my idea—”

Gemma gives Darcy a weak smile, her eyes bloodshot. “Well, shit— go you, Darcy.” She runs a hand through her hair. “Is that why you and Emily were fighting?”

Darcy nods slowly. 

“Look, Darcy—” Gemma hesitates, looking deeply uncomfortable again. “What two consenting adults do in the bedroom is— really none of my business, but— it would be wise for both of you to remember that he is still your teacher for a few more weeks.”

“I know.”

“And Carla should know,” Gemma adds. “She’ll be upset if she finds out both Emily and I know, but not her.”

“I know.” Darcy squirms, not really wanting to share this information with someone else.

Gemma sighs contentedly, looking at Darcy expectantly. “Well?”

“Well what?”

Gemma laughs. “Go on, Darcy— I want to know everything.”

Darcy blushes, her head swimming. “I don’t really know where to start…”

“The beginning, Darcy,” Gemma insists. “Start from the beginning, and please— don’t spare me any of the juicy details.”


	52. Chapter 52

Darcy promises Gemma before they leave the bathroom that she’ll tell Carla in time, and Gemma takes that half-lie at face value. But Darcy doesn’t think it’s especially wise to tell many people. Of course, Carla is her friend, but Darcy can’t figure out how exactly Carla would react. While Emily’s reaction had been anger and betrayal, and Gemma’s had — predictably — been shock and amusement, Darcy is mostly afraid that Carla would take Emily’s side. Carla had always, in previous years, been a great secret keeper in regards to her friends, had always been able to be convinced to break certain rules when it came to her friends, and had always looked up to Gemma — which gives Darcy a small shred of hope. Yet the days begin to slip by, and between classes, studying, homework, and dinner with Lupin about twice a week, Darcy isn’t able to find time to spend alone with Carla, and Darcy finds herself privately hoping the school year will end before she has to confess to her last friend. 

Darcy’s dreams have become something to look forward to, as well — dreams of Lupin that are obscene and humiliating, dreams that wake her in the middle of the night, warm between her legs. She has no intention of sleeping with Lupin again as his student, but finds it so incredibly easy to slip a hand underneath her blankets, underneath her underwear, and pretend that it’s not her hand, but Lupin’s, now that she knows his touch. These dreams leave her feeling desperate to be touched during her dinners with Lupin, and whenever he brushes his fingers casually against her inner thigh, or when his eyes travel up and down her body, sometimes it’s all she can do not to jump him on the spot. 

But there are other dreams, as well — these are less embarrassing, less racy. The dreams involving Sirius Black are some of Darcy’s favorites. She dreams she’s a little girl again, running into his arms as he throws her high in the air, a goofy smile on his face. She dreams of the night of her parents’ death, of Sirius rushing to her in the rubble as she screams and screams and screams, burying her tear-stained face in his chest as Sirius holds her tight in his arms. And though she continues to repeat the truth to herself —  _ he’s a traitor, a murderer, a traitor, a murderer, a traitor, a murderer  _ — she still feels so loved and so happy when she wakes from these dreams, and Darcy takes to revisiting the picture of her parents’ wedding afterwards, where photograph-Darcy is usually curled up against Sirius’s chest. 

She wonders where Sirius Black is now, if he’s still near Hogwarts, or if he’s gone far away. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to look him in the eyes, wonders if she’ll ever be able to see any part of the man he’d once been. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to ask him the question she so desperately needs to know the answer to —  _ was it ever real? _

* * *

“What do you mean she  _ has  _ to tell Carla?” Emily whispers, after making sure Snape is on the other side of the classroom. She rounds on Darcy, her mouth tightening. “You just  _ told _ Gemma?”

“Yeah, after I knew she wasn’t going to punch me—”

“That is  _ not _ how that happened— you punched me first—”

“On accident!” Darcy hisses, and the three of them straighten up at Snape sweeps past them without a second glance. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, Emily, but only if you promise not to get angry with me.”

Emily’s face turns pink. “Well, I don’t know that I’ll be able to stay calm if I have to hear you talk about his c—”

“Stop,” Gemma says exasperatedly, stirring her cauldron with a bored expression. Then, she grins. “Though, Darcy, maybe you  _ should _ tell Emily everything. Your story did not disappoint in the slightest.”

“This is your fault, you know that?” Emily snaps at Gemma. 

“My fault?” Gemma laughs, lowering her voice. “How could you possibly come to that conclusion? I wasn’t the one that slept with him!”

“You were talking about kissing him, and you— you  _ encouraged _ her—”

“I didn’t encourage her to do anything— I was only saying—”

“Still want to kiss him now? You don’t know where his mouth has been.”

Gemma smiles, shaking her head. “I do know where his mouth has been,” she replies, looking at Darcy with her eyebrows raised. “Darcy told me everything. I told her not to spare me any juicy details, and Emily— I’m telling you, it’s like one of those stupid romance books you like.”

“They aren’t stupid.”

“They are a little bit.”

Darcy blushes furiously, holding her face in her hands. “Can we stop talking about this here?” she pleads. “The last thing in this entire world that I want right now is Snape overhearing this.”

Emily and Gemma look at each other, and to Darcy’s immense relief, chuckle before returning to their potions. Darcy stirs her quickly, adding the last few ingredients to make her potion become a light shade of pink. Gemma is still a few steps behind, her potion still colorless, but Emily matches Darcy stir for stir, her potion the exact same color. Soon enough, Snape is asking the class to collect a small sample of their potion for him to test, and when Darcy brings her filled vial up to Snape’s desk, he looks at her with his eyes narrowed for a moment. Darcy moves to turn away, but Snape calls her back.

“I want a word, Miss Potter.”

Darcy tries to hide her disappointment as Gemma bids her goodbye, but she’s thankful that Emily promises to wait just outside the classroom. Snape collects the rest of the class’ samples, making sure the names written on the outside are legible, and giving everyone a slight sneer as they file out of the classroom. When the classroom is finally empty, Snape gets to his feet and places his hands on the desktop, leaning forward towards Darcy.

“Have I done something, sir?” Darcy asks, his expressionless face making her uneasy. 

He looks at her for a long time, eyes roving her face. “If you are still determined to come back next year, I expect better from you,” he replies, and Darcy raises an eyebrow. She’s always done fairly well in Potions — the one class that has always come naturally to her — and Snape has never given her a failing grade. “Your exams are approaching very quickly, and if you want to remain as my—  _ assistant _ , is the term the Headmaster is using, I believe— then you’ll need to perform well. Your last essay wasn’t at all up to N.E.W.T. standards.

Darcy blinks at him, trying to keep herself from smiling. Snape has never joked with her before, but surely he must be now. “I’m sorry, sir, but I thought I did well— you gave me an O on my last essay.”

“It certainly would not have earned an O on your exam.” Snape scrunches his nose, and his next questions tumbles from him as if he’s been dying to ask. “What are you up to, Miss Potter? Coming back to Hogwarts instead of going off into the Ministry like Duncan?”

Shrugging slightly, Darcy answers, “I don’t know, sir. I just wanted to come back. I like it here.” She isn’t sure whether Snape expects the truth from her — Darcy doesn’t think he quite deserves it, either. Though, she is surprised that Dumbledore hadn’t told him more of the reasoning behind it. Maybe, she thinks, Dumbledore wants Darcy to be the one to share such information instead of spilling her secrets while she isn’t around. With a rush of gratitude towards Dumbledore she’s never felt before, Darcy stands up a little straighter. “May I go, Professor?”

“No,” he replies quickly, leaning closer to her over the desk. Darcy takes a step backwards, and when Snape’s eyes flick to her shoulder for the quickest second she’s ever known, her heart starts to race. “It seems the Headmaster is not the only one in this school to place trust in those who do not deserve it.”

Anger surges through Darcy. “I don’t blame Professor Lupin for what happened. Professor Dumbledore was right to keep him here— he’s the best Defense teacher we’ve ever had,” she says forcefully. “Everyone thinks so.”

“Yes,” Snape hisses, and Darcy is surprised that he agrees with her, but then, “You have been spending quite a lot of time with him, haven’t you, Miss Potter?”

Darcy’s lips part slightly, but she isn’t sure what to say, so she closes them again. The look that Snape gives her makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and goosebumps rise on her arms. She looks away quickly from his dark eyes and clears her throat. “May I go now, Professor?” Darcy asks again, this time a bit more defiantly. 

Snape studies her face for another minute. “Go.”

Darcy relays this encounter to Lupin that evening during dinner. He listens carefully, stroking the scruff on his face (that he tends to keep more often ever since Darcy had told him how much she liked it), looking pensive. When Darcy finishes telling him what Snape had said, she expects Lupin to be surprised, considering Lupin has seen the way Snape interacts with other students — especially Harry. But Lupin’s reaction, or lack thereof, makes Darcy nervous.

“What?” she asks, rather defensively. She crosses her arms over her chest, sitting up straight. 

Lupin clasps his hands together in his lap and looks into the fire, looking to be choosing his words carefully. “Has Professor Snape—  _ always  _ taken an interest in you?”

“No,” Darcy scoffs, and then after thinking about it for a moment, shrugs her shoulders. “Well, I mean— I suppose so, but not in a particularly good way— but everyone knows he hated my dad at school.” And then Darcy moves closer to Lupin, struck by a sudden thought. “What was Snape like at school?”

Lupin doesn’t seem convinced when he looks back at Darcy. He looks very uncomfortable for a split second, unsure of himself. 

“Is it true that my dad saved his life?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Professor Dumbledore told Harry and me,” Darcy says, trying hard to recall the conversation. “He said that’s why Snape hated my dad so much— all because dad saved his life.”

There’s a long silence, and Lupin runs his fingers through his hair, dragging his hands down his face, and looking back into the fire again. “Yes,” Lupin answers finally. “It’s true.”

“What happened?” Darcy whispers eagerly, moving closer still. “Tell me, please.” She coils her arms around Lupin’s bicep, kissing his shoulder lightly. 

“Maybe another time—” Lupin shifts beside her and Darcy lets go of his arm. 

Darcy frowns. “All right. I’m sorry.” She pauses, reaching up to brush hair out of his face, and Lupin catches her hand. Darcy tries to pull away, assuming he doesn’t want to be touched, but Lupin only rests her hand against his cheek, letting go of her. Darcy brushes her thumb over his cheek. “You need a haircut.”

“I know,” he murmurs. Lupin turns to face her, looking very serious. 

Darcy lowers her hand from his face. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I was only curious. Professor Dumbledore never explained the circumstances.”

“No— no, Darcy, I don’t blame you for being curious.” Lupin sighs. “Professor Snape had a certain— fondness for your mother. I was only curious if he shares that same fondness for you—”

“ _ No _ — no, no, no— Snape is not  _ fond _ of me—” Darcy stammers, shaking her head. “No, certainly n—” But she trails off, trying to think. Darcy has seen the way Snape treats his other students, has heard the things Harry, Hermione, and Ron have said to her about the way Snape has treated them. Snape has always been harsh towards Emily, too, Darcy recalls. But towards herself, Darcy has to admit that Snape seems to have — for lack of a better word — a  _ soft spot  _ for her. He’s always given her good grades, especially compared with Emily, even when their essays are almost the same. And Darcy remembers Snape going after her when he realized she’d snuck out after Lupin — Snape had saved  _ her _ life, carried her back to the castle from the base of the Whomping Willow, had brought her directly to his classroom — and yet despite her being out of bounds and in serious trouble, Snape hadn’t paraded it about, hadn’t pushed for her expulsion like he would have done if it had been Harry instead — or would he? Darcy isn’t sure if she’s looking too far into things, or if the signs were there all along and she just hadn’t realized. 

“Darcy?” Lupin asks, but Darcy barely hears him. “Darcy? Sweetheart?” 

The word makes butterflies erupt in her stomach, bringing her out of her reverie, and Darcy turns to look at him again. This time, Lupin is smiling at her. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

Darcy furrows her brow. “Professor Snape only likes me— well, I guess he likes me— because of my mum?” She thinks of the hatred Snape shows towards Harry and she scowls — if she looked like her father, Snape would hate her too, wouldn’t he?

Lupin quickly takes her hands from her lap, giving them a squeeze before lacing their fingers together. “What does it matter, Darcy?” he asks, talking fast. “What does it matter whether he likes you because of your mother or not?”

“I don’t want people taking an interest in me because of my parents— Lily Potter’s daughter. I’m more than that,” Darcy snaps, pulling her hands away from Lupin’s. “What happened when I was a child is— I don’t need people to just feel sorry for me— I’m not my mother— I just—” She breaks off, her heart racing. 

Lupin is watching her with his eyebrows raised. Then, very calmly, he says, “If I hadn’t known your parents— if I hadn’t known you to be James and Lily’s daughter— then I would never have gotten to know you as well as I have.”

Darcy smiles weakly, but her smile fades. “Who am I? I have never been given the opportunity to find out— I’ve always been whatever someone needs me to be,” Darcy continues, her voice quiet. “Harry needed a mother, so I became that. When he needed a sister, I was that. Petunia wanted me to be a normal girl, so I did things that normal girls do. Emily wanted me to have dreams of going into the Ministry, so I took the proper classes and worked hard towards a dream that was never mine to begin with. And now, I’m going to be coming back to Hogwarts because I don’t even know who I am without Harry. I mean— what am I to you? What do you even see in me? Why do you even bother with me?” Tears well in her eyes, and Darcy wipes at her cheeks as the first tears begin to fall.

“You are my dearest friend, Darcy,” Lupin answers without much hesitation. “I have laughed more with you these past months than I have in years. You look at me without fear, and your suffering does not define you, but it has given you such an empathetic nature that surprises even me sometimes. The odds have all been stacked against you— your life has been full of tragedy and suffering, and yet you’ve become stronger because of it. To know that you’ve lived so long without being properly loved— and yet you still have so much love to give— Darcy, I—” Lupin struggles for a moment with his words, and finally continues after a pregnant pause. “Come here, Darcy.”

Darcy allows Lupin to wrap his arms around her, pulling her to him. Darcy leans into him, to rest her head against his chest and Lupin holds her tighter. He settles his cheek against the top of her head. 

“I should have been there for you,” he whispers into her hair. “I’m so, so sorry— you’re right, I should have written to you, I should have— I should have been there…”

“You’re here now,” Darcy murmurs back, sniffling. 

“I shouldn’t have let them take you to your aunt and uncle’s house,” Lupin sighs. “I should never have let them take you or Harry. I’m sorry, Darcy— I’m sorry I didn’t do anything to help you.”

But Darcy, as much as she resents growing up at Privet Drive, is quite glad Lupin hadn’t done anything. She knows everything would be different, and imagines never knowing such love from someone — she imagines never knowing Lupin’s gentle touch, the tenderness of his kisses, the warmth of his smile. Years of abuse and neglect at the Dursleys have left her craving love, and Darcy can’t imagine ever loving someone else so deeply. And, being held in his arms, Darcy can’t help but to think,  _ the wait was worth it to have him come back into my life again. _ Over a decade of loveless years at the Dursleys, only to finally find someone who cares for her in ways she’s never imagined anyone could…

Lupin shifts underneath her, allowing Darcy to lean more comfortably against him. With her head against his chest, Lupin runs his fingers through her hair slowly, and she closes her eyes as the beating of his heart and his touch begins to lull her to sleep. “I dream of him still,” she whispers. Darcy slides her hand up his shirt, resting her palm on his scarred chest. “I dream of him all the time— saving me, holding me—  _ loving _ me.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Darcy can feel Lupin’s heartbeat start to quicken beneath his chest, and he stops combing her hair with his fingers. “Darcy,” Lupin says in a strained voice, “he’s a—”

“I know what he is,” Darcy hisses, perhaps too harshly. She groans into his chest. “Oh— I’m sorry— it might be stupid, but can I tell you something?”

Lupin hums his consent, his heart still beating very fast. His nervousness makes Darcy’s heart begin to race, as well, and when she thinks of Sirius Black holding her, Darcy feels her heart may burst. “The picture of my parents on their wedding day— whenever I’ve looked at it recently, Sirius is holding me— just like in my dreams— and I’m asleep in his arms… do you— is that real? Do you remember that day?”

“I remember,” Lupin rasps. Darcy looks up into his face, touching her hand over his shirt. “I hope this doesn’t upset you, but— you spent most of the day at his side, given that your parents were quite busy. Sirius was always quite taken with you, and you with him.”

In spite of herself, and in spite of the surge of anger that fills her (thoughts of Hagrid prying her from Sirius’s chest, thoughts of possibly being able to have had a real family), Darcy smiles. Then, she remembers:  _ he’s a traitor, a murderer, a traitor, a murderer. _

“I know you miss your family,” Lupin rasps. “I know you miss them, but you and Harry have survived this long together. Your parents would be so proud of you, Darcy— I mean it. If they could see how you’ve taken care of your brother…”

Then, unable to hold back years worth of tears that are building in her eyes, Darcy begins to sob into his chest. “Please don't leave— please don’t leave me— I don’t want to be alone anymore—”

Lupin kisses the top of her head, his fingertips digging into her arms. “I won’t,” he breathes. “I won’t leave you, Darcy.”

In an attempt to make her feel better, Lupin digs inside his liquor cabinet and produces a bottle of firewhiskey. He looks at it for a long time, biting down on his lip as if unsure he should really open it, but he does — albeit reluctantly. The prospect of drinking, of hopefully filling the gaping hole in her heart at the moment, is so appealing to Darcy that when Lupin pours her a glass, she drinks the entire thing in one large gulp. But it burns her throat so, so badly that she gags and coughs and sputters for a few minutes. Darcy holds her glass out for Lupin to fill again, and he hesitates before doing so, watching her drink the contents of her glass quickly. 

Within twenty minutes, Darcy is drunk; her cheeks are flushed and she’s sweating slightly, and the room around her starts to spin, but she doesn’t move from her seat on the sofa. Lupin refuses to refill her glass after she holds it out for her fourth refill, and Darcy can’t blame him. She doesn’t think her body can handle another sip, anyway. But the firewhiskey does nothing to stop the aching in her heart, and Darcy can’t help but feel disappointed. 

Lupin drinks at his firewhiskey not as deeply, but quick enough that he’s soon slightly tipsy, as well. He continues to refill his glass without caring how much he’s drinking, and when Darcy tries again, holding out her cup, Lupin fills it still more reluctantly, muttering something that sounds like, “—shouldn’t be doing this—” and Darcy swears that she hears him say the word “cute”, but when she drinks the firewhiskey, the thought is forced from her mind. 

Darcy watches Lupin carefully, and he watches her right back. When he finishes his glass, he sets it on the table, not bothering to refill it this time. Darcy does the same thing, but soon finds herself wishing Lupin would pour more for her. At the same time, she wishes Lupin would kiss her now — he looks so incredibly handsome, his eyes heavy, cheeks red, hair tousled. 

At the sight of him looking so disheveled, Darcy wonders something she hasn’t really thought about often. If her parents were still alive, what would they have to say about this? What would her mother say if she found out how much time Darcy and Lupin had been spending together, alone, in such close confines— drinking together? What would her father say if he found out his daughter and one of his best friends had slept together? Darcy can’t imagine they’d be pleased — and she’s sure that Lupin knows it, as well. 

_ I should leave, _ she thinks suddenly. But the room still swims around her, and Darcy doesn’t think she’ll be able to make it back to Gryffindor Tower. And she doesn’t  _ want  _ to leave — she wants to stay with him, fall asleep next to him, kiss him again and again and again...

“Do you miss your family?” Darcy asks, very gently, hoping for a conversation to get her mind off the trouble they would both be in if someone were to catch them. 

Lupin considers her for a moment, looking her up and down, and making himself more comfortable. “Yes, sometimes,” he answers. He reaches out for her hand, settled in her lap. Lupin takes it in his own, pulling her closer to him. “I always made them worry so much— I made their lives so difficult and I know how hard it must have been for them.” Darcy moves closer and Lupin kisses her fingers. “I’ve been without them for so long, there are some days that I find myself missing how it feels to be part of a family.”

Darcy feels her heart ache for him. She wonders if, between when her parents’ died and Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban, and now, anyone has cared for him. She tries not to picture Lupin alone for so long, grieving the loss of his friends, his family, with no one to hold him or comfort him. Darcy studies his face for a long time. “I could be your family,” Darcy whispers. “We’d never have to be alone again.”

Inhaling sharply, Lupin opens his mouth to speak, but isn’t able to say anything. And then, Lupin closes the space between them, his lips crashing against her’s. Darcy kisses him back hungrily, wrapping her arms around his neck. Lupin only deepens the kiss, snaking his arms around her, and less than ten minutes later, they’re lying on their sides on the sofa, half-undressed, their chests pressed up against each other’s. Darcy’s leg is draped over his hip, Lupin’s face buried in her shoulder as he fucks her clumsily, drunkenly. 

Darcy combs her fingers through his hair, grabbing a handful of it and kissing the top of his head. They’re both sweating, hot breaths against each other’s skin, the fire in the hearth causing Darcy’s back to burn. Lupin pushes the damp hair out of her face, kissing her neck up and down, and Darcy sighs into his ear when she finishes. 

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Lupin mutters afterwards, as he holds Darcy in place despite his doubts. “I shouldn’t have— oh, Darcy—”

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” Darcy slurs back, trying to stop him before he apologizes, and smiling as his lips touch her cheek.

She closes her eyes, relishing the warmth and comfort that Lupin’s arms bring her. With Oliver, there had never been this closeness — with Oliver, she had always dressed immediately afterwards. There had been no sense of intimacy, no soft kisses, no holding her in his arms. Once, Darcy had never known something like this was possible, and she loves Lupin that much more for being able to show her a love and kindness that doesn’t need to be said for her to understand. Maybe it’s the firewhiskey, or maybe it’s the rush that sleeping with him again has given her, but Darcy’s thoughts seem suddenly scrambled. 

“Say my name,” he murmurs. 

Darcy looks up into his face, smiling weakly at this sight of his tired face, his eyes closed. Then, she kisses his chest. “Remus,” she whispers. 

“Again.”

“Remus—” Another kiss to his chest. “Remus— Remus— Remus—” Punctuating each word with a kiss, Darcy stretches her neck out to kiss his lips finally, muttering against them, “Remus.”

“Darcy,” he suddenly says very seriously. When Darcy chances a glance at him, she finds his eyes are open again. “I don’t like the idea of you going back to your aunt and uncle’s.”

“It won’t be for that long,” she answers quietly, kissing his chest again. “Harry will be there, and I won’t be staying there the whole time. This won’t be my first summer at Privet Drive.”

“I’m only saying—” he stammers, his cheeks turning pink. Darcy smiles at him, admiring him while so flustered. Raising an eyebrow and prompting him to continue. “If they aren’t treating you well, I’d like you to let me know— and Harry, as well— and if you were to need a place to— with the salary Dumbledore’s paying me, I could manage to fix a few things—”

“Visit you over the summer?” Darcy asks, her heart skipping. “Could I?”

“Well— only if you wanted to, of course, and I’d understand why you wouldn’t—”

Darcy pushes herself up slightly to look down into his face. Her smile stretches wider. “No— I’d love to.”

“Truly?”

“Yes,” Darcy says, breathless. She kisses him hard again on the mouth. “Yes, yes, yes—”

Lupin grins, wrapping his arms around Darcy’s middle and kissing her face all over as her laughter rings out around them. 


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg i’m almost done w this story

That night, Darcy stays up late into the night, eyes bleary and stinking of firewhiskey, long after everyone has gone to sleep. By the light of a few candles lit on her night stand, Darcy watches the picture of her, Sirius, and her mother and father. With an arm tucked behind her head, propped up with several pillows, Darcy watches Sirius smiling up at her, feeling slightly guilty. Glancing at her parents for a split second, Darcy knows that they loved her — without any distinct or vivid memories, it’s hard to remember how they loved her, but she knows they did. 

Forcibly, Darcy remembers one of her first memories at the Dursleys’. Uncle Vernon has always harbored a special hatred for Darcy, and she recalls being no older than five or six when it happened. Harry had started crying during the night, but she’d slept right through it despite Harry being in the same room as her. Vernon had burst into her bedroom, screaming bloody murder, screaming about Harry and Darcy while Petunia’s face watched from over his shoulder. 

“One of you would have been more than enough!” Vernon had shouted in Darcy’s tired face, as she had lifted Harry from his crib, trying to ignore Vernon. He had continued to shout and yell and scream and then — “You were nothing more than an  _ accident _ —”

Darcy remembers how the word had shaken her to her core even then, when she was just a little girl, and the memory even shakes her now, at eighteen. To her, the word is a reminder of how unwanted and how unloved she’d been her whole life — how little she remembers the love her parents had shown her. Her parents hadn’t wanted her, hadn’t wanted to be in the situation, but had owned up to their mistake — they hadn’t wanted her the way they wanted Harry, who had been born while they were out of school, living comfortably, and married. Vernon and Petunia never wanted her, and Sirius had left her in the arms of a stranger.

But with the recent dreams of Sirius, she feels a sort of affection towards him — a sort of affection that is familiar, a sort of affection that she likely once felt towards him. Lupin had said that Sirius had been very taken with her, and what she wouldn’t give now to be young again, to be curled up against Sirius’s chest, sleeping soundly, with arms around her that she knows, that comfort her. What she wouldn’t give now to have a family, to live in a home where she felt wanted. And to think, just a few hours ago, Lupin had asked if she wanted to visit him over the summer — he’d apologized profusely in advance, claiming his home was nothing but a run down cottage, seeing as he couldn’t afford anything — but the thought of escaping Privet Drive for only a little bit, of being able to wake beside Lupin, knowing that she is wanted there, makes her stomach twist and churn with excitement and a happiness she has not felt in a long time. 

Darcy looks at Emily’s bed, watches her sleep for a moment. Emily’s home had always been a salvation, and her parents had always treated Darcy kindly, had always been repulsed by the Dursleys when Darcy accidentally let things slip that she hadn’t realized weren’t normal within loving families. But Darcy had always felt an outsider at their dinner table, had always felt out of place and awkward among them. To see such a happy, healthy, loving family was strange to Darcy, and it always seemed like she was intruding on something intimate. 

Darcy’s eyes find Sirius again — neatly groomed unlike the photographs in the newspapers, a broad smile crossing his face and revealing large, white teeth, young and handsome and alive, not at all the creature he looks now. She wonders if Sirius thinks about this day sometimes, remembers when he’d held Darcy in his arms, remembers finding her amongst the ruins of her home — or have the dementors stolen every happy memory Sirius ever had? He’d have to be mad now, after thirteen years in that wretched prison — who wouldn’t be? 

Closing the book quietly, Darcy stows it back underneath her bed, blowing out the candles and getting comfortable under her blankets. Her head still buzzes when she closes her eyes, but her mind still races with what she and Lupin had just said and done. And she had meant it —  _ I could be your family _ .  _ We would never have to be alone again.  _ Because realistically, despite them both denying a sense a loneliness, Darcy can’t help but to think that’s all they really are. Two lonely people seeking comfort in familiarity, clinging to the parts of each other that remind them of better days — thoughts of another life. After all, Darcy thinks, isn’t that why Snape has taken an interest in her, as well? 

_ No,  _ Darcy tells herself firmly, opening her eyes and staring at the ceiling.  _ I do not love him only because he is familiar. I do not love him only because I am lonely.  _ But then, she can’t remember a time when anyone has shown such a tenderness towards her — Emily, who has always been overbearing and suffocating at times, motherly and condescending other times; Carla, with visions of freedom and experiences that Darcy will never be allowed, will never understand Darcy’s desire to live a quiet life; and Gemma — much more loyal than Darcy could ever have expected. Gemma, the Slytherin girl who’d been so interested in Darcy from the start because of her last name, had proven to be a tremendous source of support lately. She mulls this over for a while, as her eyes adjust to her surroundings, now shrouded in shadow. 

The last thing Darcy thinks of before she falls asleep is Harry. Harry, who has been a beam of light in what sometimes feels like a very dark world — Harry, who knows her better than she knows herself. When she closes her eyes and sleep overcomes her, Darcy dreams of simpler times — times when she was happy just to be with her friends, times when stress and guilt and loneliness didn’t eat away at her constantly. She dreams of times she doesn’t remember happening, unsure if they ever even happened at all…

* * *

 

“What’s with the sunglasses?” Gemma asks, as Darcy approaches her friends with her hair looking slightly windswept, despite the lack of wind. The air is warm and stale today, but sitting under the shade of a beech tree by the lake, a fragile breeze gives them relief every so often. “Hungover?”

“Not hungover,” Darcy mutters, dropping her school bag on the ground and sitting between Emily and Carla. “I haven’t been sleeping well. I just— it’s too  _ bright _ .”

“I think they look nice,” Carla smiles, admiring them. Then, she scrunches her nose as Darcy turns to look at her. “I can’t tell if you’re looking in my eyes. Just take them off— we’re in the shade now anyway.”

Darcy sighs heavily and rubs her temples. Her friends watch her expectantly, and as Darcy takes off her glasses, her friends all shrink back, looking surprised. She knows what she looks like — after catching her reflection in a cracked bathroom mirror, Darcy had been slightly repulsed, as well. There are dark circles around her eyes, no color in her face, and her eyes are heavy and tired and red-rimmed, as if she’s been crying. 

But Darcy has told them the truth about it — in fact, she’s barely slept more than two hours at a time in the past week and a half. Not that she’s been having terrible nightmares that wake her, and it’s not that she’s not tired — her body aches and her brain screams for sleep and her eyes are painful — it’s just that she  _ can’t  _ sleep. Her head is always full of thoughts — of the same thoughts, always — the same memories, the same people.

“Why don’t you just go to Madam Pomfrey?” Emily asks casually. “She’ll give you something to help you sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Darcy answers. “I don’t want her to fuss over me.”

Last night had been the worst — she’d been sluggish all week, but last night she couldn’t sleep at all. In truth, she had considered sneaking down to the hospital wing, but she knew Madam Pomfrey would have seen there was more wrong with Darcy than just the inability to sleep. Words would likely be had with Professor McGonagall, or likely Mr. Weasley. Darcy doesn’t want to admit it, not even to herself, but there is something wrong with her beyond just a lack of sleep — a tiredness and exhaustion and weariness that magic cannot cure. 

The last two dinners she’d had with Lupin had been quieter, as well. The first time, she had read a book to herself the entire time, her head in his lap as he graded homework. She’d left a few hours later, and Lupin had squeezed her hand gently before leading her out. The second time they had dinner, Darcy had shown up looking so tired and ill, she nearly collapsed on the sofa. Lupin had let her sleep for a few hours in his bed, and only came to wake her when it was nearing nine o’clock. It had been some of the best sleep Darcy had had all week, though as she’d walked back to her common room, she thought it would have been better if Lupin had been sleeping next to her. 

Darcy looks up from her lap at Gemma. She’s smiling, eyes flicking from Darcy to Carla, whose nose is inches from the page of the book in her hands. Frowning, Darcy runs a hand through her hair, fingers getting stuck on small knots. Darcy tries to communicate silently that she really doesn’t want to have to tell Carla about Professor Lupin, but Darcy doesn’t think Gemma will let her walk away without confessing.

Looking to her left, Darcy sees that Emily’s been watching them. She nods with her eyebrows raised, motioning towards Carla. Darcy shakes her head quickly, pursing her lips and putting her sunglasses back on. She starts to rifle through her bag, looking for her Transfiguration textbook, but Gemma suddenly slaps Darcy’s hand. Carla looks up at the sound, cocking an eyebrow.

Darcy only looks at Carla behind dark sunglasses, fighting with herself. She doesn’t want to say anything — she doesn’t want another person to know — she doesn’t want to disappoint anyone, or make them angry — but Carla is one of her best friends, and Darcy  _ has _ to say something.

“Carla,” Darcy blurts out, taking her glasses off. “I should tell you something.

“All right,” Carla replies, smiling slightly as she looks to Emily and Gemma. Their faces are quite blank, and Carla’s smile fades. “What?”

Darcy shifts uncomfortably in the grass. How is she supposed to say it? With Gemma, there had been alcohol, and she’d been warm and relaxed in the bath. With Emily, there had been harsh words and fighting. “You have to promise you won’t tell anyone.”

Carla laughs nervously. “All right.”

“I need to hear you say it.”

Looking taken aback, Carla narrows her eyes, closing her book. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good.” Darcy licks her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. “Carla— I may have—” she stammers, and Carla waits patiently for her to finish. Darcy lowers her voice, color rising to her pale cheeks. “Professor Lupin and I— we— oh, please don’t make me say it—”

Carla blinks. She looks again at Gemma and Emily before looking at Darcy again. “You— I’m sorry— what?”

Emily elaborates quickly enough. “Darcy fucked Professor Lupin.”

Carla’s eyes widen suddenly and she gives Darcy an incredulous look. “You  _ what? _ Darcy—”

Darcy smiles sheepishly, her face flushing a deep red. She cuts across Carla before any questions can be asked. “Only once,” she lies, as if once isn’t bad enough. “But none of you understand—”

“Hold on— I’m not finished,” Carla retorts, and Darcy closes her mouth. Anger flashes across Carla’s face, making her button-nose scrunch and her thick eyebrows knit together. Brown eyes settle on Gemma first, and Gemma shrinks back behind her book; even Emily seems smaller under Carla’s gaze. “You two  _ knew _ ?” She takes their silence and apologetic smiles for their answer. Jaw clenched, Carla turns to Darcy once more. “Please tell me this is a joke. Please tell me you didn’t  _ actually  _ sleep with him.”

“It’s not a joke,” Emily answers, and Gemma puts her head in her hands. “She fucked him.”

“Stop saying— I don’t—  _ Darcy _ — Emily—” Everyone lets Carla splutter in disbelief for a little bit, as her dark cheeks grow slightly pink. “That’s why you’d been fighting— but when did you—  _ how _ ? He’s your— oh my god— you’ve done it this time— how could you not tell me?”

“Well, it’s not something I was looking to parade about,” Darcy hisses back, more harshly than she wanted. 

“Yes, because you know it’s wrong!” Carla’s voice is as shrill as it can be, while she still tries to keep it down to a whisper. Her eyes seem to be popping now, and a vein protrudes from her neck, throbbing. “And you two—  _ encouraging _ her! How could you let this happen?”

“How could  _ we _ let this happen?” Gemma growls, showing Carla such anger as Darcy’s never seen between them. “It’s not my job to make sure Darcy doesn’t get into trouble— that’s Emily’s job—”

“You shouldn’t have been so casual about the whole thing!” Emily shouts, immediately lowering her voice after drawing the attention of a few fourth years walking past. “Asking her for details and—”

“Oh, I see— you think I should have just punched her instead?”

“She punched  _ me _ —”

“Shut up!” Carla yells, and everyone turns to look at her. Carla’s anger seems to have abated, and now she looks sympathetically at Darcy, as if she’s a starving puppy dog. “Darcy— look, I know that you like him, and I know that you think the world of him— trust me, I know, and I get it— but have you thought— I mean, you are young and beautiful and— and Professor Lupin doesn’t really seem the type to— I mean, he’s kind of a people pleaser, right? And if you had shown interest in— well, I mean—”

“It wasn’t like that,” Darcy answers meekly. “We love each other.”

Emily clears her throat, and when Darcy glances over her shoulder, she flashes Emily a nasty look. 

“Darcy, I think he’s taking advantage of you,” Carla says very matter-of-factly. 

Darcy scoffs. “Is it so hard to believe that he could actually love me?” she snarls, looking each of her friends in the eyes. “Is it so hard to believe that someone could actually be interested in me?”

Carla shakes her head, looking sorry for what she’s about to say. “He’s much older than you, your teacher— a friend of your parents— and he knows that you love him. Do you really believe he would refuse a beautiful girl that’s coming on to him?”

Darcy grits her teeth, looking to Gemma for help. Gemma, who knows things about Darcy and Lupin that Darcy doesn’t feel much like sharing the details with Emily and Carla. “That’s not what— you don’t understand— hes not  _ using _ me—”

“Darcy, you’re going to get in serious trouble for this,” Carla sighs, starting to pack up her things. “And I think you’re going to seriously going to get hurt. And I don’t want any part of this.”

Darcy stares at her open mouthed for a minute. “Carla—”

“What?”

“Come on—”

“What would your parents think?” Carla asks quickly, and Darcy’s heart begins to race. “What would  _ Harry _ think?” She gets to her feet, glaring in Gemma’s direction. “If you were a good friend, you’d tell her this is stupid instead of egging her on.”

“You’re really going to look me in the eyes and tell me you think Lupin would take advantage of Darcy?” Gemma says. “You truly believe that?”

“He’s our teacher,” Emily answers, packing her things, as well. “He should know better.”

Gemma doesn’t say anything, only glances at Darcy as Emily and Carla head back up to the castle, heads together. Darcy and Gemma watch them until they’re out of sight, and then Darcy screams in frustration, frightening two first year Gryffindors who had stopped by the lake to watch the Giant Squid lift a tentacle above the water. They scatter immediately and Darcy rips off her sunglasses. 

“Darcy, if you want them to understand, you’ll have to tell them everything you told me.”

“I don’t want to tell them everything I told you.”

“Then you can’t be angry with them.” Gemma shrugs innocently. “I think that went quite well. She didn’t hit you or scream at you.”

“He’s not taking advantage of me,” Darcy mutters, slamming her book shut and stuffing it back into her bag. But instead of going back to the castle, Darcy leans back in the grass, closing her eyes and listening to the occasionally splash from the lake, and the birds twittering in the tree above her. “I know he’s not— I know it.”

“I believe you, Darcy,” Gemma sighs. “I do. Do I think he should have known better? Yes, I do. But I think he’s been very lonely, I think you’ve been lonely, too.”

The words make Darcy want to cry. To hear someone voice what she’s been thinking is more painful that she’d expected. “So you do think he’s only using me?”

“No,” Gemma answers straightaway. She doesn’t elaborate. “Look— I know how werewolves are seen by wizards and witches, and my heart goes out to him, truly. How many women do you think left him because of what he is? How many women left because of things he couldn’t provide due to his condition? Look at what he did to you, and you still go back to him— you still love him. He probably fucking loves that.” 

Darcy tries not to dwell on the thought for too long, not wanting something else to keep her awake at night. “I slept with him again— last week. It just… happened.” She tells Gemma quietly about the conversation they’d been having, omitting certain things she would rather keep private, but most things she relays to Gemma, including the comment she’d made that caused Lupin to kiss her. Darcy doesn’t tell Gemma about Lupin nearly tearing her pants off, doesn’t tell her about the way he’d forced her legs apart and hooked one of her legs around him, doesn’t tell her about the way she had marked Lupin’s chest with lovebites. But Darcy remembers these things and smiles in spite of herself. Finally, she tells Gemma about their conversation afterwards, about Lupin inviting her to his home over the summer.

Gemma laughs when Darcy finishes, a good-natured laugh. “He fucking loves you,” Gemma grins. “That’ll be really good for you.”

“You think?”

Nodding, Gemma’s smile disappears. “You know I hate those Muggles as much as you do,” she says. “I know you hate it at Privet Drive, and you know that I’d have you over at my house if I could. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let you go back.”

Darcy sits up slowly, taking her glasses off and setting them in the grass beside her. She studies Gemma’s face, thinking hard. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” Gemma teases. Darcy smiles weakly with her. “You can have three questions and I’ll tell you the complete truth, but I want to ask you three questions in return.”

“Fine.” Darcy crosses her legs in front of her, considering her first question. “Who are your parents?”

Gemma’s smile widens again, as if knowing this would be Darcy’s first question. “Perseus and Ava Smythe,” Gemma says coolly. “But you weren’t just looking for names, I’m sure? Well— yes, they fought for You-Know-Who during the First Wizarding War.” Darcy doesn’t say anything in response, and Gemma leans closer. “Look, you told me a secret, so I’ll tell you one now. My parents are Death Eaters— well known ones. Many teachers and students are aware of it, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Darcy says slowly. “I don’t know what a Death Eater is.”

Gemma leans back. “A Death Eater is what You-Know-Who calls his most loyal and devoted servants.” She pauses, waiting for a reaction, but none comes. “Why do you think I’ve never invited you to my house during the summers or holidays? I hope you didn’t think I just didn’t want you around.”

“Your parents are Voldemort’s followers?”

Despite Gemma calling him You-Know-Who, she doesn’t flinch at the name. “Yes, they are,” she finishes. “Professor Lupin knows that— that’s what we were talking about in his office before, remember? But I’m not like that, Darcy, so don’t worry. Now, it’s my turn for a question.”

Darcy’s still processing this information, but readies herself for Gemma’s question.

“Have the Muggles ever hit you, Darcy?”

The question shocks her. She’s reminded of Emily, who had asked the same question in the exact same, concerned tone years and years ago. Darcy can’t see any reason to lie to Gemma. She nods slightly. “I mean—” Darcy blushes, thankful that she isn’t admitting this to a group of people, thankful that it’s only Gemma. “Not all of them, not all the time, so it’s not— Vernon is the one that mostly does it, just— a slap across the face sometimes and he used to use a belt, but now he uses a cane mostly.”

Gemma scrunches her nose in a look of disgust. “Why does he hit you?”

“That counts as your second question.”

“Fine— why does he hit you, Darcy?”

Darcy shrugs casually as Gemma watches on. “Sometimes, like— when I’m not paying attention and I burn dinner, or sometimes if I drop something. Stupid stuff.” She doesn’t like the look that Gemma is giving her, and decided to speed up the process. “My turn. Why aren’t you a Death Eater?”

Gemma shakes her head, as if there’s something obvious Darcy doesn’t understand. “My parents didn’t exactly sign up to become Death Eaters, Darcy,” she explains softly. “They were threatened and blackmailed, and once you’re a Death Eater, you can’t just decide to hang up your cloak and live out a peaceful life. They don’t want that life for me— and I don’t want that life, either. If I wanted to be a Death Eater, I definitely wouldn’t be friends with you.” Gemma laughs. 

Darcy feels a rush of affection towards Gemma. “Go ahead— you have one more question.”

“Have you ever told anyone what happens at Privet Drive?” Gemma asks, and Darcy feels shame rising in her. “Have you told McGonagall? Dumbledore? Lupin?”

“What does it matter?” Darcy snaps, suddenly feeling interrogated and annoyed. “What does it matter to you how I’m treated at home?”

“You’re my friend, Darcy,” Gemma says stubbornly. “And if you’re not being treated the way you deserve, then you should say something! Dumbledore couldn’t possibly force you to go back if he knew what really happens there.”

“And I suppose your home life is perfect?” Darcy sneers. “Having Death Eaters as parents much be a dream—”

“You don’t know anything about my home life, Darcy,” Gemma answers, quite calmly. “My parents love me— they love me so much that they paid a large sum of money to St. Mungo’s in order to secure a place for me there, away from the life I could have had. My parents have never once laid a finger on me, Darcy, and I know what they are— don’t think for a second I don’t know what they’ve done.”

Snatching up her bag, Darcy leaves Gemma without asking her third question. 


	54. Chapter 54

June arrives, and with it comes a sense of anticipation that blankets the seventh years. The knowledge that these will be the last exams ever taken inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry causes those already on edge to become more crazed, looking forward to being able to spend the rest of their time outside and celebrating the end of their final year. The warm weather, so welcome after such a bitter winter, teases the students, tempting them while they spend their time studying. Despite everything, Emily helps Darcy study, and Hermione tests them from their books in between studying for her own exams. 

While Carla has not spoken to Darcy except in passing, it doesn’t really discourage her, even when she watches Carla and Emily walk together down the corridors. She knows there will be plenty of time to talk after the exams, and if Carla still doesn’t feel like speaking then, Darcy knows there will still be plenty of time when they both return to Hogwarts in the fall. Between Darcy’s lack of sleep and determination to do well during exams, she is quite glad to be left alone. Harry spends most of his time right at her side near the fire in the Gryffindor common room, and Darcy’s heart is slightly lighter whenever he’s around. 

When Darcy goes to Lupin’s one night for dinner, however, the sight of Emily and Gemma walking out of his office makes her nervous. She stops midway across the classroom her heart sinking at the apologetic looks on her friends’ faces, and they walk past her with weak smiles, not saying anything, but upon turning her gaze to Lupin and seeing him smiling at her from the threshold, Darcy ignores her friends. She doesn’t want to think about what the three of them could have been talking about — she doesn’t want anymore else to think of. Feeling light on her feet and weak at the sight of Lupin’s smile, Darcy nearly floats across the classroom, and up into his office.

Three empty tea cups are still sitting on his desk, and the smell makes Darcy slightly nauseous. Lupin clears them with a flick of his wand and leads Darcy into his apartments, a hand on the small of her back, slightly lower than usual.

Lupin helps her study for Transfiguration after they eat, allowing her to transfigure several small items he finds in cupboards or in his trunk. He quizzes her as Darcy lays against his chest, looking through her pages and pages of notes, and Lupin rewards her with a soft kiss to her temple for each right answer. Darcy finds him strangely affectionate that night, kissing her face and holding her hand and draping an arm over her shoulders, holding her to him, but Darcy doesn’t complain or ask why — although she’s certain it has  _ something _ to do with what he and Emily and Gemma had been talking about. She’s almost afraid to ask and, as Lupin hasn’t brought it up, is worried that she won’t like the answer if she decides to be straightforward about it. 

When she starts to pack up her books and notes, Lupin watches her carefully, clenching and unclenching his jaw. And then, as she gets to her feet to leave, he asks, “Is it true?”

Darcy pauses, looking over her shoulder at him. “Is what true?”

Lupin scratches at the beard on his face and awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “Your uncle hits you?”

And just like that, in the matter of a second, anger surges through Darcy. To know that Gemma had not only told Emily, but Lupin as well, about the things Darcy had  _ confided _ in her is not only humiliating, but infuriating. She tries not to picture Gemma dragging Emily along with her to Lupin’s office, begging a private word. She tries not to picture Lupin being surprised that Darcy hadn’t said something sooner. Darcy finds herself not wanting to talk about any of this at all — especially not now, knowing she’ll have to return to Privet Drive very soon. Darcy scowls at Lupin, unsure of why she decides to lie when the answer to his question is written all over her face. “No,” she snaps. 

“Why are you lying to me?” Lupin says, furrowing his brow. His eyes flick down to her left hand and she knows all is lost — she knows exactly the conversation that was had without her —  _ behind her back.  _ Lupin rises from the sofa, reaching out for her left hand. “Let me see your hand, love.”

Darcy knows it’s such a stupid thing, to hold him back from seeing a single finger. Her left hand, which had once been rapped so hard with a cane that her ring finger hadn’t quite healed properly, is shaking. Years ago, she had let it slip to Emily, and Darcy had thought it was forgotten by Emily, but Darcy still remembers it. Vernon had been the one to use the cane, and the pain of it made Darcy cry out, her sobs echoing throughout the kitchen, and even Dudley had to look away as her hand swelled almost instantly, turning black and blue and purple. Suddenly feeling very shameful about it, Darcy curls her fingers into a fist, tucking it behind her back. “No,” she says again. “It’s nothing.”

“Let me see your hand, my love,” Lupin whispers gently, reaching out again. But still, Darcy keeps it well out of reach. He frowns deeper. “I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

“I have shown you mine,” Darcy retorts, her right hand moving to her shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing the scars that are underneath her shirt. With her left hand, she makes to grab her bag, but with surprising speed, Lupin reaches out and closes his fingers around Darcy’s wrist. “Let go.”

“Show me.”

Darcy doesn’t move to show him, nor does she pull away from his grip. Lupin looks into her eyes once before opening her fist, and Darcy extends her fingers for him. He touches her ring finger gingerly. At the first knuckle, it’s bent at an awkward angle very slightly, as if it had been broken but never treated. Darcy’s heart pounds as she searches Lupin’s face, waiting for a reaction, infuriated that Emily would have given Lupin such information — no matter how small — without at least consulting her first, infuriated that Gemma had dragged Emily along to Lupin’s office to reveal secrets Darcy hadn’t intended on telling him.

“You’re not going back there,” he tells her, as if that settles the matter.

“Why?” Darcy hisses, heaving her bag over her shoulder. “Because I got hit with a cane once? Because you said so?” And then, unable to stop talking no matter how badly she wants to, she drops her bag to the ground and the books slap against each other inside it. She crosses her arms over her chest, rage overwhelming her. “Don’t talk to my friends about me.”

“Your friends are worried about you,” he replies quite calmly. 

Darcy laughs mirthlessly. “Go on, then— what else did Emily say? Has she told you every little thing that’s happened to me over the past thirteen years?”

Lupin sighs deeply. “How can I let you go back there knowing what they do to you? Why didn’t you tell me it was so bad?” He runs a hand through his hair, and when his hand falls to his side again, his hair sticks up near the back. “If your parents knew how they were treating you—”

“They’ll never know, because they’re dead, aren’t they?”

Darcy sees anger flash in Lupin’s eyes for a split second before it’s gone, and his face remains stony. “You don’t have to remind me that they’re dead, Darcy,” he says, his voice almost a growl. “I lost just as much as you did that night.”

“Oh?” Darcy shoots back, taking a step towards him, her bag still abandoned on the floor. “How would you have any idea what I lost that night? You never bothered to write, never bothered to check in on me or Harry— you disappeared and left your best friends’ children to fend for themselves,  _ knowing _ what happened. You lost your friends— I lost my family, my childhood— the only other person in this world who loved me.”

“You know what I am, Darcy,” Lupin answers, his tone harsher now, his voice a little louder. “What would I have done for you? What could I have done for either of you? I had nothing— no job, no money, no home— I couldn’t have just taken you away—”

“Anything would have been better than Privet Drive!” Darcy shouts, resisting the urge to reach out and shake him, shake him until he understands. “Maybe Vernon hits me, maybe he says things that hurt me, maybe they all hate me, but that is nothing—  _ nothing _ — compared to the loss of my entire childhood when I was forced to step up and be a mother to my baby brother! Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

Lupin scoffs and crosses his arms, looking very defensive, angering Darcy even further. “I have an idea of what the loss of a childhood might be like,” he sneers. “In case you’ve forgotten, I lost the opportunity for a real childhood at the same age you did.” This time, Lupin takes a step forward. Darcy doesn’t falter, but her heart rate starts to quicken. “Do you truly think I’d forgotten about you? You thought I had forgotten James and Lily’s children survived? You think I didn’t imagine how you must have been feeling? My heart  _ ached _ for you and Harry, knowing that you would never know your parents.”

Darcy feels tears prickle painfully in her eyes, and she tries to will herself not to cry. “You left us,” she sniffles, reaching out to push him, but Lupin is quicker and he catches her hands before she touches his chest. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be five-years-old, having to care for a baby after everything that had happened? To raise a child because no one else wanted to? To not be cared about, to have no one to talk to? I cried myself to sleep for years, and you did  _ nothing _ —”

“What do you want from me, Darcy?” he interrupts, lowering her hands and letting go of them. “You want me to be your father? You want me to make up for all those years I wasn’t around? Make up for all those years James wasn’t around? I told you— you didn’t know who I was, and I wouldn’t have been able to do anything for you. I wasn’t named your godfather.” But when Darcy is unable to answer, he presses on. “Tell me what you want me to be, and I’ll be it for you.”

Darcy knows Lupin will never be able to take the place of her father — they have done far too much, shared far too much, to ever have a healthy relationship like that of a father and daughter. And besides, Darcy thinks, Mr. Weasley has filled that gap for two summers now, has stepped up to offer her the comfort she never had, but always craved. And she remembers the day everything changed between them like it was yesterday —

She remembers preparing to stay at the Burrow for the first time, just after Fred, George, and Ron had rescued she and Harry from Privet Drive. She remembers being offered a camp bed in Ginny’s room, remembers Ginny being quite bashful as Darcy climbed underneath a blanket, trembling violently, afraid of what might come.  _ Please don’t let them come tonight, _ she’d thought, as she had closed her eyes. All she wanted was for someone to be next to her — all she had wanted was to find Harry in that cramped household, to climb into bed with him.  _ Please let my dreams be normal.  _ But in the middle of the night, Darcy had woken screaming bloody murder, scaring Ginny so badly she started to cry — and Mr. Weasley had made it to the bedroom first. He’s walked into his daughter’s bedroom to find Darcy in tears, her face red and soaking wet, and he’s scooped Darcy in his arms and held her to his chest while she sobbed out of fear and intense embarrassment, and Darcy had listened to his rapidly beating heart as the entire Weasley family plus Harry looked on in silence, white-faced. In the days that had followed that incident, Darcy had been attached to Mr. Weasley’s hip, and he’d made her smile and laugh and never made her feel bad about having nightmares. 

Darcy looks up from the floor, into Lupin’s face again. She tries to imagine a life where she doesn’t love Lupin as deeply as she does now — a life where she loves him as a father figure, as a family friend. To know that life could have been possible, but at the cost of the joy his kisses bring her, the warmth of his smile, the safety of his arms wrapped around her, the feel of his skin against her’s when he’s on top of her, inside of her… 

“I just—” Darcy swallows hard, suddenly feeling very ashamed of the things she’s said to Lupin. “I just want—” She flushes. “I just want whatever—  _ this _ is— whatever we have right now.”

Lupin, to Darcy’s surprise, frowns. “You know I have nothing to offer you,” he whispers. “You want a home, don’t you? I’ll never be able to give that to you— not one that you deserve. And do you want stability? A normal life? Darcy, you will never get that with me. You know what I am, and I could not ask you— ever— to take on the burden of caring for me.” Suddenly, he looks distressed, and he starts to pace back and forth before the fireplace, while Darcy watches him. “I could never be what you deserve— I am far too old for you— your parents would never allow it— think of what your friends would say— I’ll do nothing but ruin you, and make your life more difficult than it already is, and I—”

“I don’t need all those things— a nice home, stability, whatever you think you can’t offer me,” Darcy says, her tone softer now. She picks up her bag off the ground and puts it over her shoulder again, feeling rather awkward. “I’m sorry for what I said— I don’t blame you for— I know why you never— I’m sorry.”

Lupin nods slowly. “Me too.”

Darcy glances away, her cheeks burning. She wipes angrily at the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. “I don’t want to fight,” she breathes, suddenly feeling very exhausted. 

“Darcy,” Lupin sighs, and Darcy’s eyes meet his again. He reaches out for her shoulders, balling his hands into fists before he touches her. Slowly, Lupin lowers her hands back to his sides. He looks into her eyes for a long time, seemingly battling some internal conflict. “In another life—” Lupin stops abruptly, clearing his throat, looking sheepish. “In another life— this wouldn’t have been— we never would have—”

It seems to Darcy that what he’s trying to say is physically paining him. She smiles in spite of herself, in spite of everything — Darcy almost finds it endearing how someone so confident when he’s inside her can barely form a coherent sentence about his feelings. And at the same time, Darcy can’t help but feel bad for him, so conflicted with his feelings that he can’t think straight. All of the anger she’d felt towards Gemma as Emily, towards Lupin, suddenly evaporates as happiness floods her senses. How could she have said those things to him? How could she have treated him as if he could never understood her sufferings, when his patience and understanding and acceptance are some of the things she admires most about him?

“Yes?” she prompts him eagerly as Lupin’s sentence trails away. 

“What I’m trying to say is—” Lupin pauses again, watching Darcy with a very nervous look about him. “I’m— I’m glad we’re together again—  _ now _ . I’m happy the way things are, and— in a short while, when you’re no longer my student, I— I’d like to continue seeing you, you know— have dinner and— and not just to get you away from your aunt and uncle, I mean—”

Darcy flashes him a toothy grin, feeling lightheaded and airy. “Yes?” she asks again, rather innocently. 

Lupin groans and drags a hand down his face, a dull flush creeping up his face. He takes a deep breath, taking a moment to think about what he wants to say. Then, after a minute’s silence, he continues. “What I mean to say is, if you’re interested— and I understand if you’re— well, I really care about you, and—  _ please  _ stop looking at me like that— you know what I’m trying to say.”

Darcy can’t even think of a simple answer. Lupin’s words have scattered her brain, and they’re all she can think about. 

Lupin frowns when she doesn’t answer, looked dejected. He straightens himself up to his full height, trying to regain his dignity. “I’m sorry if I presume too much— I know that I could never be what you deserve, but I—” Another deep breath. “I’ll take care of you, Darcy.”

Still unsure of what to say — or if she’s even able to say the simplest words — Darcy only smiles at him. She stoops to pick up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and Lupin is still looking at her when she stands up. Darcy sighs happily, moving closer to Lupin. She stands on her tip toes and kisses him softly in the cheek. 

When she pulls away, Lupin puts his fingers to the place on his cheek where her lips have just touched, and he smiles weakly. “Good luck with your exams, Darcy,” he rasps as Darcy is halfway through the door to his office. 

“Thanks.” And Darcy closes the door behind her, a smile glued to her face and her heart racing all the way back to her common room. 

* * *

“What are you so happy about?” Harry asks, looking suspiciously at Darcy over the top of his Divination book. Ron watched Darcy with side eyes, while Hermione has the decency to at least pretend she’s reading her notes.

Darcy beams at Harry, but he narrows his eyes at her in return.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that for weeks,” Harry mutters. “Have you lost it? Are you mad?”

“Is it the N.E.W.T.s?” Hermione whispers.

“Oh, that’ll be it,” Ron nods. “You’ve cracked, haven’t you?”

Hermione watches Darcy and Harry’s faces for a moment, and then grabs Ron by the arm. “Come on,” she tells him. “They obviously want to be left alone.”

“You were the one telling us we had to study!” Ron protests, and he continues to mutter under his breath all the way to his dormitory. 

Harry looks over the opposite side of the common room, where several other students are studying together, talking quietly with their heads together. None of them so much as spare Darcy or Harry a quick glance, and Harry looks back at his sister. “You  _ haven’t  _ cracked, have you?”

“No,” Darcy laughs softly, the smile fading from her face. “I’m happy, Harry.”

“Are you?” Harry replies, sounding genuinely surprised. “All I’ve seen you do lately is snap on people and sneer— and would you please stop doing it? Because you remind me of Snape.”

His comment goes unheard. Darcy’s smiling into the crackling fire, her stomach full of what feels like fluttering monarch butterflies. “Yes,” she murmurs, closing her eyes and sighing contently. “Yes, I am.”

Her dreams that night are some of the best dreams she’s ever had. While Emily snores lightly in the bed beside her, Darcy dreams of Lupin — but they aren’t the obscene dreams she usually has of him, his head tucked between her legs, his fingers digging into her hips. These dreams are full of smiles and laughter, of his warm hand in her’s, of soft kisses all over her face. 

_ I’ll take care of you, Darcy. _

Isn’t that all she’s ever wanted? Someone to care for her after years of only having Emily? Emily, her best and oldest friend — not counting Harry, of course. But the dynamic between she and Emily is so different from Darcy and Lupin’s. Since the beginning, Lupin has treated her an equal, as if she’s an old friend, while Emily had always seemed to think she was slightly superior to Darcy, but she’s sure Emily never acted that way intentionally. After seven years, you get to know someone very well, especially sharing a room with them for the better part of a year — and Darcy knows that’s just how Emily is. 

She wakes in the middle of the night, not because of a nightmare, but because her mouth is so dry. Darcy gets herself some water and lays back down, her mattress creaking underneath her. 

_ I’ll take care of you, Darcy. _

Has Lupin ever had someone to care for him? All those years, she hopes he wasn’t alone for all of them, but Lupin, upon their first meeting, never gave Darcy the impression he was well cared for. Now that he’s at Hogwarts, Lupin seems radiant to Darcy despite the state of his robes, clothing, and most of his belongings. With a frown, Darcy wonders, who will take care of him?

As she closes her eyes again, the answer comes easily to her. 

_ I will. _


	55. Chapter 55

Darcy flies through her Defense Against the Dark Arts exam the following morning, scribbling furiously on her parchment, glancing over her shoulder at Emily and Gemma every so often. Gemma seems a bit paler than usual, but doesn’t flash anyone a horrified or confused look; Emily looks determined as her hand moves quickly across her exam. Lupin sits in the corner of the Great Hall, flipping lazily through a book as the wiry examiner patrols the aisles of students, making sure no one is cheating. Darcy’s heart soars as she continues through the questions, absolutely sure that she’ll pass this class with flying colors. In fact, she’s rather disappointed she studied so hard for Defense, because truthfully, she hadn’t really needed to. She isn’t sure whether the exam is just  _ easy _ , and everyone had just talked up the N.E.W.T.s, or if she really just has a good grip on the information.

For the practical part of it, the examiner calls them in one by one, and Darcy goes in after Gemma, who quickly tries to tell everyone as she walks out of the Great Hall what they’re supposed to be doing. When Darcy walks in to an empty Great Hall, with only the wiry man — whom she recognizes as one of the Professors who had observed her O.W.L.’s — and Lupin inside, she starts to feel nervous — but she shouldn’t. She starts by casting a few spells as the examiner calls them out, and they finish with the Professor casting harmless spells at her while she blocks them wordlessly. When Lupin tells the examiner that Darcy had been working on a Patronus that year, the examiner squeals with delight. 

“Go on!” he says, in a shrill, high-pitched. “Would you please?”

Darcy shoots Lupin a reluctant glance, but he nods encouragingly. She rubs the back of her neck and agrees somewhat hesitantly, taking a few steps back and holding out her wand. For a moment, Darcy takes her time in thinking of a happy enough memory, one that will help her produce a  _ real _ Patronus, not just vapor. Finally, Darcy settles on her memory of Sirius Black, picking her from the rubble and tries to imagine more to it — Sirius Black saving her life, Sirius Black taking her home with her, curled up against his chest while his arms shield her from the devastation she’s just witnessed — a sense of love swells inside her, her heart expands and pounds inside her chest — “ _ Expecto Patronum _ !” 

And to not only Darcy’s surprise, but to Lupin’s and the examiner’s, as well, something enormous erupts from the end of her wand, silver-white and blinding and  _ beautiful _ . Lupin beams at Darcy, and then his eyes follow the large Patronus as it leaps around the Great Hall. Unable to stop herself from grinning, Darcy takes a long look at the Patronus, trying to see what it is — and finally it stops in the middle of the Great Hall, staring at Darcy with its head down, as if bowing to her. 

“A doe!” the examiner exclaims excitedly. “How beautiful! Oh— how wonderful, Miss Potter! Full marks for your practical—  _ full marks _ !”

Darcy lowers her wand, breathless, and as the examiner writes quickly on his clipboard, she bounds over to Professor Lupin. She can hardly talk, but Lupin claps a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “I did it,” she rasps, unable to wipe the smile off her face. “ _ I did it _ — I casted a Patronus— did you see what it was? Did you—”

“It was beautiful, Darcy,” Lupin laughs, and he nods towards the large oak doors of the Great Hall. “Why don’t you let the next person in now, and you can meet me after you finish your next exam?”

“Er— right, sorry,” she replies sheepishly, and Lupin only smiles at her as she lets herself out of the Great Hall, feeling elated.

The feeling of elation is still going strong during their Potions exam, and Darcy feels that she needn’t have studied for this class, either. After the written exam, Darcy and the other students are shown a long table of ingredients, which they label on a blank piece of parchment. The last part of this exam is creating a list of all the potions with which the ingredients could be used, and the steps involved. When Darcy glances over at Gemma, she can tell that Gemma is struggling, pausing every so often to look helplessly at Darcy before returning to her parchment with a triumphant look on her face, as if she’s suddenly remembered the answer. Emily, who has always been an excellent Potions student, doesn’t seem bothered by this exam, either. Knowing that her friends have done well makes Darcy feel happy for them, despite knowing they had gone behind her back and spoken to Lupin.

After the exams are over and Darcy fills herself with food, she and Lupin decide to take advantage of the warm weather, and they walk around the grounds together. Darcy talks eagerly of her Patronus most of the time while Lupin listens with a smile on his face. He watches her skip rocks across the lake, leaning up against the thick trunk of a nearby tree, looking weary. As more students begin to flood the grounds — most of them with books or notes to study — Lupin suggests they go back to the castle. With students coming and going through his office to ask last minute questions, Darcy spreads out her Transfiguration notes on his desk as they drink butterbeer and Lupin continues to quiz her. Darcy can’t help but to smile when Hermione comes knocking with questions about Kappas, and Darcy urges her to have a drink. To top it all off, Gemma arrives not long after Hermione, and Lupin offers her a butterbeer without Darcy having to insist. Having such a good time, Darcy even forgets to be mad at Gemma. It's then that Darcy realizes Gemma's already had her Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T., and Darcy savors the thought that Gemma had come to Lupin's office to see her.

Professor McGonagall comes in shortly afterwards while the four of them are laughing in his office. “Surely that’s not laughter I hear? What could possibly warrant laughter during exam week?” she japes, her mouth forming somewhat of a smile. She spies Darcy’s notes cluttering Lupin’s desk and nods in approval, patting Darcy’s shoulder. In her other hand is a goblet, which she gives to Lupin and he drinks it right away, leaving it — still smoking — on the ground, seeing as there’s no room on his desk anymore. 

“Professor Lupin was just telling us how wonderful you are,” Gemma sighs happily, earning her an amused look from McGonagall. “How fair and beautiful you are—”

“Good try, Smythe— your  _ charm _ didn’t work last year during exams, and it won’t work on me this year, either,” McGonagall replies. She goes to leave the classroom, hesitating in the doorway and raising her thin eyebrows nearly to her hairline. “Anyway, I don’t think Remus thought I was any of those things when I caught him snogging a girl in a broom closet after curfew in his sixth year and gave him a week of detentions.”

McGonagall closes the door behind her and all three girls look to Lupin again, whose cheeks are now flushed. Gemma’s mouth forms an exaggeration ‘o’ and she cries, “ _ Professor Lupin! _ ”

He holds his face in his hands and they all start to laugh. Lupin chances an apologetic glance at Darcy, and she smiles at him, chuckling along with Hermione and Gemma. She fingers the rim of her butterbeer bottle. “Quite the hypocrite, aren’t we?” she teases quietly.

Lupin shakes his head, cheeks still pink. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

He and Darcy look at each other for a moment, smiling shyly, sipping their butterbeers. Gemma clears her throat, getting to her feet and fixing her hair. Darcy and Lupin break their gaze, looking to Gemma instead, but she only smiles at them both before walking over to Hermione, combing her fingers through Hermione’s bushy hair. “Come on, Hermione,” she says, and Hermione puts her butterbeer down on the empty corner of Lupin’s desk. “I want to show you something.”

When Gemma and Hermione leave Darcy and Lupin alone, Lupin looks her in the eyes again. Darcy sighs, finishing her own butterbeer. “I’d have never believed it of you, Professor,” she tells him. “Caught snogging in a broom closet— you terrible, terrible boy. And a  _ prefect,  _ as well...”

Lupin laughs. “Right,” he answers. “I suppose you’re partial to the changing room after Quidditch practice?”

Darcy flushes a deep crimson, her cheeks stinging. She tries not to let her embarrassment show, but by the look on Lupin’s face, she’s failed miserably. “You were spying on me?” she asks lightly, tilting her head slightly. 

“Not spying,” Lupin scoffs. “Just— checking in on you.”

She smirks. “You were jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of Oliver.”

“You think I was  _ jealous _ of Oliver Wood? Yes, I’m sure you absolutely  _ relished _ the five minutes spent in the changing room with him after each practice.” Lupin shrugs his shoulders, leaning back in his seat, flashing her a toothy grin. He lowers his voice. “Tell me, love, did you or did you not admit to thinking of me when you were with him?”

“Did you or did you not lie about watching me on the map?”

Lupin leans forward, moving her notes aside to rest his hands on the desk. He laces his fingers together, narrowing his eyes. “I may have glanced at it once or twice, but I didn’t lie— I really didn’t have the time to watch you, nor did I want to waste my time and energy on the thought of you and Oliver.” He grins again. “Besides, there’s no need for me to be jealous— I had you, too, Darcy, or was it so terrible that you’ve forced yourself to forget?”

Darcy looks away from his face, glancing at some of her notes, unable to look him in the eyes and say what she wants to say. “You’re better than Oliver.”

“I would hope so,” he says, laughing outloud. “Now, if you don’t mind, perhaps we could change the subject?”

“No!” Darcy replies. “I want to know more about this girl— was she pretty? She must have been, for Remus Lupin, the prefect, to be caught snogging her in a broom closet.”

Lupin considers her, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. “She wasn’t half as pretty as you are.”

Darcy blushes still more furiously, rubbing at her cheeks, wishing her own face wouldn’t give her away so easily. “Flattery gets you nowhere, Professor Lupin.”

“No?” he says, in an even lower voice, seeming quite pleased with himself. “Nowhere at all?”

She shakes her head, trying to hide the smile that threatens to cross her face. 

“Ah,” Lupin groans, light-heartedly. “It was worth a shot. Anyway, you know how cute I think it is when you blush.”

Herbology is an easy enough exam; Darcy is given a couple of blank pictures and told to label the different parts of plants, giving examples of what they could be used for. It’s one of the easiest subjects, and afterwards Emily and Darcy walk in silence to their Transfiguration exam, where Darcy isn’t quite sure all of her hard work and studying paid off. She stares at the exam for a few minutes, trying to find a question that she absolutely knows the answer to, but everything seems scrambled in her brain, and she tries to recall the questions Lupin had asked her while they had dinner the other night, but the only thing she can recall from that night is their argument, the words he’d said to her after they’d apologized. She just barely finishes when the bell rings to let them go, and Darcy watches her exam fly to the front of the Great Hall with a rather wistful look on her face.

Charms is one of the easiest exams she’s ever taken, and with the afternoon off, Darcy prepares for her Ancient Runes exam in the comforts of Lupin’s apartments. He helps her with what he can before falling asleep sitting up on the sofa, and Darcy smiles at him weakly, packing all of her things as the smell of dinner begins to waft through the corridors, sneaking through the walls and making her stomach growl. As she goes to leave, Lupin reaches out quickly, making Darcy jump as his long fingers wrap around her wrist. 

With his eyes still closed, he murmurs, “I can have dinner brought up.”

Darcy feels his warm forehead, brushes back his hair and pries his fingers off her other wrist. “You should get some rest.” She sighs heavily, kneeling down in front of him. 

Lupin opens his eyes slightly, peering at her from behind heavy lids. Darcy can’t put into words how badly she wants to forget about studying, forget about having to go back to common room — all she wants to do is lay with him, rest her head on his chest, and sleep for hours, for days, for years, with him next to her. She touches his thigh gently, and Lupin gives her a tired smile, closing his eyes again. “Don’t tease me, kitten. My patience is not what it usually is right now.”

Her stomach churns violently, just as it always does when he calls her something sweet. She chuckles, patting his thigh and getting to her feet again. “Would you like me to bring you something to eat?”

“Don’t you worry about me,” Lupin calls after her as Darcy makes her way to the door. “Besides, if you come back, I may not let you leave.”

Darcy, halfway through the door, pokes her head back in to see him looking at her. “That’s a risk I’d be more than willing to take.”

When Darcy wakes the next morning, it all sets in. Everything suddenly becomes  _ real _ , and as she lays in bed, listening to the rustling of Emily dressing behind the curtains of her four-poster, Darcy can’t contain her excitement. Despite all that has happened over the past school year, she can’t be mad at Emily any longer, not with one exam being all that remains between now and absolute freedom. 

The thought of not being a student anymore makes her slightly dizzy, and Darcy feels drunk as she stumbles from her bed after Emily insists they’re going to be late. The other girls have already gone down to breakfast, leaving the two of them alone. With a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth and toothpaste dribbling down her chin, Emily throws a clean pair of robes at Darcy as she struggles to take her pajamas off. 

Seven years she’s spent sleeping in this bed, Darcy thinks. Seven years she’s spent at Emily’s side. Seven years she’s spent at Hogwarts, where she’s had the best times of her life. All she wants to do is get the exam over with — all she wants to do is reminisce with her friends about all the good times they’ve shared together — all she wants to do is think about the week they’ll have after this exam, not students any longer, but adults preparing to lead lives in the Wizarding World. She thinks of Carla, having to return to Hogwarts next year for her final year; she thinks of Gemma, itching to start classes at St. Mungo’s; she thinks of Emily, pursuing her seven year long dream of going into the Ministry; she thinks of herself, perusing the aisles of students in Snape’s dungeon classroom, the smell of potions all around her, having dinner with Lupin without having to worry about any repercussions of their irresponsible actions.

“So Gemma’s got the details taken care of,” Emily tells her as Darcy takes her time brushing her teeth. “Tomorrow night, we’re all going to be meeting in the abandoned classroom in the next corridor. She reckons the prefect’s bathroom will be the first place teachers check for celebrating students such as us. Now, don’t hate me, but— I did give Gemma some Sickels I found in your trunk, just to chip in.”

“That’s fine,” Darcy answers, not too bothered. A few Sickels for a celebratory party sounds pathetic, so she adds, “I would’ve given her a few Galleons had she asked me. Can you do my hair the way that I like?”

Emily positions herself on the end of her bed, and Darcy sits in between her legs as Emily works furiously, first combing the knots out of her auburn hair. When Darcy’s hair is brushed and knot-free, she begins to braid it delicately. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something, Darcy,” she whispers, her wrists cracking as she twists Darcy’s hair. “Gemma’s been working on me, and I have to admit, that girl is damn persuasive.”

“Oh?” Darcy asks, feeling a sense of dread wash over her. “Does this have anything to do with you and Gemma telling Lupin my uncle hits me at home?”

“Oh— he told you about that, did he?” Emily laughs nervously. “I’m sorry, Darcy, but Gemma was really worried about you, and she was the one who suggested we tell Lupin. We were worried about you, and Lupin seemed concerned, as well.”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, grunting when Emily pulls her hair a little too hard (“Sorry, but if you brushed your hair more often, that wouldn’t happen!”). “We talked about it.”

“And— speaking of Lupin…” Emily starts, groaning when she messes up Darcy’s braid. She rakes her fingers through Darcy’s hair and starts again. Darcy feels this is an ominous sign, as if Emily is prolonging the time spent in their dormitory, just to talk about Lupin. “You’re right, Darcy— I don’t know what he says to you in private, and I was wrong to assume— I mean, Gemma’s really convinced that he cares about you, and I shouldn’t have been so harsh. Carla gave me a hard time about us fighting, and I feel really bad.”

“Oh,” Darcy utters, unsure of what to say. She stares ahead of her, glad she can’t see Emily’s face. “I’m sorry, too. You know I didn’t mean to punch you, right?”

“I know,” Emily answers quickly. “I just— you’ve been really happy lately, Darcy— happier than I’ve seen you in a long time. I’m not saying that I like the idea of you and Lupin, in fact, I don’t really like the idea of you and Lupin, but I do like seeing you happy.”

Darcy’s quiet, taking in Emily’s words. She expects Emily to say more, but she doesn’t. She only sits there in silence, the only sound the cracking of her wrists. “Thank you, Emily.”

“It’s just a braid,” Emily scoffs, finishing with Darcy’s hair and taking a moment to admire her work. 

“No,” Darcy says, turning around to face her friend. Emily looks down at her, a wrinkle between her eyebrows as she knits them together. “I mean— thank you for— for taking care of me all these years. I don’t think I’ve ever truly thanked you properly.”

“You’re my best friend, Darcy. You don’t have to thank me properly for anything.”

“But I want to,” Darcy insists. She hesitates, breathing in deeply. “If it wasn’t for you— I don’t know who I’d be now. I still don’t know who I am, or what I’m meant to do, but— you’ve helped me along and you never had to do that. You’ve been more of a mother to me than Aunt Petunia ever has—  _ fuck _ — you’ve been around longer than my real mother was. And I’m glad that you picked me out of all those other kids you could’ve been friends with.”

Emily looks away when her eyes well up with tears. “You know I’ll always be there for you, even if we aren’t together.”

Darcy feels tears prickle in her eyes, as well, but she doesn’t look away from Emily. “We still have another week together.” A tear trickles down her cheek, and Darcy wipes it away quickly, but more start to flow. “I love you, Emily. You saw me in a different light than everyone else did, and I just— wanted to thank you.”

Sniffling, Emily looks back at Darcy. “You’ll be great here. You’ll do great things wherever you are. It’s in your blood, you know.”

“You’ll do great things at the Ministry, too.”

Emily swallows loudly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and getting to her feet. “One more exam.”

“One more exam.”

Nodding, Emily wraps her arms around Darcy. They hug tightly for a few, long seconds before Emily holds her out at arm’s length, looking Darcy up and down. Then, she smiles. “Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg y'all know what's coming next though


	56. Chapter 56

Ancient Runes proves to be Darcy’s worst exam — not that she’s terribly worried about it. She’s sure that she’s managed to scrape a passing grade, but Emily is quite confident afterwards as they exit the Great Hall together. They linger in the entrance hall, unsure of what to say, but unable to stop smiling. All of a sudden, the weather seems so much more beautiful than it had before, the cavernous hall seems brighter and more welcoming than ever, and when Snape comes down the corridor and sees Darcy, she even flashes him a wide, genuine grin, to which he responds with a look of utter confusion and only nods at her in acknowledgement. By the time the Great Hall is set up for lunch again, many seventh years have already finished their exams, and they all crowd the doors, making it difficult for other students to pass.

Gemma turns up for lunch a few minutes after it starts, while the seventh years are still congratulating each other. Instead of looking nervous and overwhelmed, Gemma is anxious to get her Arithmancy exam over with, and she beams at her friends with what looks to be a twinkle in her brown eyes. Carla stands with the three of them, Gemma’s arm draped around her skinny shoulders, watching as Darcy, Emily, and Gemma are hugged by others. Even Oliver Wood wraps his burly arms around Darcy’s neck, hugging her tight, and the gesture makes her so incredibly happy, she hugs him right back around the middle, swaying on the spot with him for a moment as they utter “congratulations” and “excellent job” in each other’s ears.

Once Oliver releases her, Darcy looks around wildly, trying to spot three students in particular — one with dark hair, one with red hair, and one with bushy hair, but they’re nowhere to be seen and Darcy can’t help but to feel slightly disappointed. She thought Harry would have least come over and given her a quick hug before running off to join his friends again, but Darcy knows she’ll see him plenty later — it’s not as if she’s leaving him anytime soon. Finally, the seventh years begin to filter into the Great Hall, talking louder than usual, and there’s an air of excitement that is rarely felt at Hogwarts during the regular school year.

“Let’s get some lunch,” Emily says in Darcy’s ear, as Carla drags Gemma into the Great Hall by the hand. “Or we could eat outside. It’s beautiful out today.”

“Oh, er— I was actually going to go see Professor Lupin…” Darcy blushes slightly, hoping that Emily’s good mood won’t be wiped away too quickly.

Emily hesitates, swallowing her words, it seems. “All right, but we get you for dinner.”

Darcy grins. “Deal.”

As Darcy heads to Lupin’s classroom, adrenaline courses through her.  _ I’m no longer his student.  _ She nearly skips the rest of the way there, her heart racing for several reasons, threatening to burst in her chest. Not only are her exams completely done, but she feels she’s done rather well on all of them — which she should, given the amount of work she’d put in this year; Emily didn’t say a word of caution when Darcy told her where she’d be going, nor did she scowl or scrunch her nose or look remotely angry; the knowledge that she still has a week to enjoy herself and relax in the sunny grounds, spending time with her friends and Harry and Lupin; and Darcy is looking forward to getting incredibly, irresponsibly drunk with her friends the following night, looking forward to celebrating seven years’ worth of hard work. 

Armed with these thoughts, knowing that nothing could bring her down right now, Darcy lets herself into Lupin’s classroom, lets herself into his office, and when she realizes he’s not there, lets herself through the secret doorway hidden in the wall of his office. Upon entering, Lupin is standing at the counter opposite the sofa, flipping through that day’s newspaper with a cup of tea in his hand. He lowers the cup at the sight of her, placing it on the counter, and smiles widely at her. “Congratulations, Darcy,” he sighs happily, but she doesn’t answer him.

Darcy runs up to him, momentarily forgetting to be gentle with him, especially so close to the full moon. He doesn’t complain, however, nor does he groan or grunt or inhale sharply when Darcy throws her arms around his neck and kisses him hard on the mouth. Lupin staggers backwards, falling into the wall, Darcy still attached to him by the lips. When she pulls away, Lupin laughs softly, running his fingers though her hair and tucking it behind her ears. He leans in to kiss her again, but Darcy lets go of him and backs away, smiling shyly, her cheeks flushed. His hands fall to his sides, and he straightens up, flattening his hair. 

“I was hoping we could— celebrate.” Darcy continues to grin, and her cheeks begin to hurt from smiling for too long. “If you’re up to it.”

“Always,” Lupin tells her, moving past her to return to his tea and paper. He smooths the newspaper out on the counter, looking up at Darcy. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.”

Lupin reaches up into a nearby cabinet, rummaging around for two glasses. He sets them down on the counter and from a cupboard below, extracts a bottle of wine. Darcy raises her eyebrows, watching Lupin slowly pour it into their glasses. Without looking at her, he mumbles, “You’re making me feel like I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Darcy laughs. “You probably shouldn’t be.”

Even so, he offers Darcy a class, raising his to toast her with a slight nod. Darcy touches her glass to his before drinking deeply. “A celebratory glass, and nothing more,” he urges. 

“You’ve been telling me all year you shouldn’t be drinking with me,” Darcy teases, “and yet you’ve never once listened to your own advice.”

Lupin smiles, rubbing his face. “What can I say? I like the way you look at me when you have a few drinks in you.”

“And how exactly do I look at you when I’m slightly drunk?” Darcy feels herself blushing furiously, his shameless flirting leaving her breathless. 

“Have a few more drinks and you’ll be able to see for yourself.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Darcy asks, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Maybe I am.” Lupin finishes his glass, refilling it, and nodding towards the sofa. He puts down the bottle and his glass on the table, fumbling in his pocket for his wand. Pointing his wand at the empty fireplace, a roaring fire suddenly appears within, making the room feel warmer than usual. With the warm summer weather heating the castle, Darcy tugs at her robes, pulling them over her head to reveal the layer beneath. 

Darcy sits down, smoothing her skirt. She suddenly wishes she’d come dressed in regular clothes instead of her Hogwarts uniform — after all, with no more classes coming up, Darcy isn’t technically a student anymore. She loosens the tie around her neck, pulling off her sweater at last, leaving her clad in her blouse. Lupin watches her closely all the while, the corners of his lips turned upwards as he sips at his wine. 

Darcy looks over at Lupin, her fingers in her hair, making sure her braid is still intact. “How does it feel? Having finished your final exam?” he asks, tearing his eyes away from her and back to the fire. Lupin drapes an arm over the back of the sofa, moving slightly closer to her. 

“It feels— it feels—” Darcy sighs, unable to express her happiness. She looks down to her lap and sees their knees mere inches away. Moving her knee close enough to Lupin’s that they’re touching, Darcy looks back up at him. “I’m over the moon— ecstatic— I’m—  _ happy _ .” 

“I’m happy for you.”

Grinning again, Darcy moves closer to him, curling up at his side, and Lupin’s arm falls around her shoulders. “You know,” she says, reaching towards Lupin’s lap to grab his hand and Darcy laces their fingers together. His thumb caresses her hand, his touch making her skin burn hot. Darcy turns her head to look at him, and she finds his face so close to her’s that she almost kisses him again. “I still don’t know much about you. Not as much as you know about me, that is.”

“Something in particular you’d like to know?” Lupin asks, smiling down at her. “You need only ask.”

Darcy thinks hard for a moment, and then for reasons unknown to even herself, asks him, “Have you ever been in love before?”

He squirms beside her. “You don’t want to know about that.”

Darcy frowns, looking away and closing her eyes, nuzzling into his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Lupin clears his throat and pulls his arm back to his side. He quickly reaches for the glass of wine on the table, nearly throwing Darcy off of him. He drinks what’s left inside his glass and Darcy drains her cup, as well. “Darcy,” he sighs, pouring more wine for himself. “What do you want to know about that for, anyway?”

She doesn’t fail to note the bitterness in his tone. Glancing at him again, she can see the way his face has hardened and Darcy inches away from him. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “I was only curious.”

“No— I’m sorry— come here, come back…” Lupin picks up her hand again, tugging her back to him. His face softens at the apologetic look she gives him. “Come here, sweetheart. I’ll tell you if you really want to know.” He pulls on her hand again, and Darcy hesitates, but moves closer once more. “I’ll tell you, but I want a secret in return.”

Her face falls as she tries to think of a secret to tell Lupin — one that he doesn’t know about, and one that won’t make Darcy feel so depressed. The secrets she hasn’t told him are ones that she’d rather keep private — memories of things that have happened at Privet Drive mostly, and after seeing how Lupin had reacted the last time he’d learned about one of those secrets, Darcy isn’t keen on giving him another one. At the same time, she wonders what kind of secrets Lupin is keeping from her. She wonders if they’re happy secrets, or secrets he’s kept from others who would never understand. And then, as Lupin raises his eyebrows as if expecting an answer, Darcy is reminded briefly of Gemma, and wonders if Lupin’s  gotten the idea from her in the first place. This makes Darcy even more hesitant.

“I don’t want to do that,” she says quickly and quietly, looking away from him and suddenly feeling very childish. Darcy fixes her gaze instead upon the fire, and remembering that there’s still more wine, hastens to refill her glass. 

“All right.”

Darcy fills her cup almost to the very top, leaving just a small sip in the bottle. It’s then that she realizes her hands are trembling slightly, and she tries to hide it from Lupin, moving quicker than normal. But as she brings the glass to her lips, Darcy moves too fast — the wine slops over the rim and spills down her white blouse, pooling in her skirt, and when Darcy’s head begins to spin from embarrassment, the glass slips from her fingers, crashing to the floor and spilling wine all over the roughspun rug, her shoes, and splashing up on her socks. “I’m sorry—” Darcy says shrilly, looking up into Lupin’s face, expecting him to be angry. “I’m so sorry— Professor— please don’t be mad—”

“Darcy, it’s all right,” Lupin smiles, grabbing his wand off of the table in front of them. “Darcy— truly, it’s fine.  _ Reparo. _ ” And just like that, the shattered glass around Darcy’s feet mends itself, and the cup is back to normal. Lupin sets it back on the table, smiling weakly at her. “Would you like to change into something a little more comfortable and— er— perhaps something a little less wet?”

She looks at Lupin for a moment, tilting her head slightly. Then she looks down at her shirt, where a large red stain has soaked her chest. She wonders why Lupin doesn’t just clear it with another wave of his wand — it’s still in his hand — and then Darcy realizes  _ she _ could just clear it with a wave of her wand, but she finds she doesn’t want to. To vanish it with a wave of her wand will also vanish the intimacy of the moment, and she doesn’t want the moment to be spoiled. “I’m sorry for spilling the wine on your floor,” she says in a low voice. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t,” Lupin answers, slipping his wand back into his pocket and taking her hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Would you like something clean to change into?”

“Yes,” she breathes, allowing Lupin to help her up from the sofa. He leads her to the back room, where it seems to be a little cleaner than the last time she had seen it — however, Darcy remembers, it had been dark last time she’d been inside it. He’s started organizing his things now that the school year is creeping ever closer, but his trunk still lays open in the corner of the room, an extra pair of shoes inside of it. 

“Hang on for a moment,” he tells her, letting go of her hands and moving towards a dresser. The top drawer is hanging open, and Lupin closes it, slowly opening the bottom drawer. He withdraws from it, two sweaters — one blue and one tan. Lupin stands up straight again, holding out the two in his hands. “Do you have a preference?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Darcy says sheepishly, flattening her skirt again nervously.

“Here,” Lupin replies, holding out the blue one. “This one might fit you better.” Darcy takes it from his hand, holding it to her chest. “Er— you can change here, if you like— here—” He opens another thin door off the bedroom, revealing a tiny washroom. 

Darcy nods, smiling at him. She walks over the threshold to the washroom, where two lamps hang from the walls, brightening the room. Lupin gives her one last look as he closes the door after her, and Darcy turns to look in the small mirror. Glancing at the door, Darcy unbuttons her blouse quickly, pulling it off and replacing it with Lupin’s sweater. The collar is loose when she pulls it down over her head, but it’s warm and smells of him, and that’s all she cares about. The sweater comes down to just about the middle of her thighs, a few inches above where the hem of her skirt is, and when Darcy stretches out her arms, the sleeves reach her fingertips.

A warmth that Darcy associates with chocolate after an encounter with a dementor floods her, and she smiles at her reflection. Darcy stoops to pick up her blouse, walking out of the washroom. Lupin is pacing slowly by the bed, but stops at the sound of the door creak open, and his eyes snap from the floor to Darcy. She flattens the front of the sweater, smiling at Lupin weakly.

“Do I look ridiculous?” Darcy asks, feeling quite so. Darcy feels a flush creep up the back of her neck as Lupin continues to look at her, his eyes occasionally flicking down the length of her body. “Why are you looking at me like that? Please say something.”

“Darcy, I—” He clears his throat, taking in a deep breath. “You look, er— fine.”

She doesn’t answer, but catches the sight of the small smile that graces Lupin’s face for a few seconds. Darcy takes a good look at his face, prematurely lined, looking quite peaky, but slightly flushed from the sun. She wishes he would move closer to her, kiss her so forcefully that she’d be knocked off her feet. “You’re making me very nervous,” she rasps, his eyes still fixed on her. “How would you like it if I just—”

“Did you mean it?” Lupin asks, as if he hadn’t heard Darcy talking. “When you said you wanted to see me over the summer— did you mean that?”

“Yes, of course,” Darcy replies, breathlessly. She and Lupin inch slightly closer to each other. She frowns, her brow furrowing. “Er— do you want to play a game of chess, or— I don’t know, we could—”

“Chess is fine. Chess is— chess is fine.” 

Darcy smiles awkwardly again, taking a few steps towards the door. Lupin waits to move until she passes him, and he touches her back on the pretense of wiping something off her. When she glances over her shoulder at him, he lowers his hand and gives her a toothy grin. She seats herself at the small table near the cabinets and cupboards, where they usually play chess, and Lupin grabs the box of pieces and chessboard from a nearby bookshelf. 

Lupin lets her win the first round, as Darcy makes sure to make terrible decisions, wondering if Lupin will do the obvious thing to take her pieces and reach her king. However, he uses his pawns more often than not, stealing her own with his knights, not bothering to move his bishops or queen at all. When Darcy finally calls ‘checkmate’, Lupin only folds his hands in his lap and shrugs innocently, not even having the grace to look disappointed with his loss. 

“Stop going easy on me and I might share some secrets with you,” she tells Lupin as he resets the board for a second match. Darcy watches his face, looking for a reaction. 

“Oh?” Lupin mumbles, looking up at her from the board. “Your move.”

“Each time a piece is taken, we have to tell a secret.”

“Fine. Your move, Darcy.”

Lupin takes one of her pawns first, and Darcy leans back in her chair, thinking hard of a secret to tell him. “I can play the piano,” she admits, and Lupin raises his eyebrows, smiling at this admission as if impressed. “Not very well, but I took lessons for a little while. Petunia’s vile friend had suggested it, and that was that.”

Darcy takes one of his knights, and Lupin puts a finger to his chin, rubbing it while deep in thought. Finally, after a brief silence, Lupin comes back to his senses. “I never learned how to swim,” he laughs. “I’m sure I  _ could _ figure it out on my own, but— I’ve always been hesitant about swimming in the lake for that reason. That and the giant squid.”

“The giant squid isn’t so bad,” Darcy answers, watching Lupin move one of rooks forward a few spaces. “The squid’s never bothered us once while we were in the lake.”

It’s quiet for another minute and then Lupin captures her knight. “Your turn,” he says, brushing his hair out of his eyes and grinning. 

“Okay,” Darcy sighs, thinking again. “I broke my leg in first year. Fell off my broomstick. It was our first flying lesson.”

“You really are terrible at flying, aren’t you?” Lupin jokes. “I find it hard to believe that James Potter’s daughter can’t fly a broomstick.”

“Look, you’ve seen Harry fly,” Darcy blushes slightly, rolling her eyes. “He’s good enough for the both of us.” Darcy overtakes one of his pawns and looks up into his eyes expectantly. 

Lupin drums his fingers on the table, considering her. Darcy sits up in her chair, wrapping her arms around her, and Lupin’s eyes flick up and down her again, his lips curling upwards. “All right,” he says finally. “I’ve never been in love before.”

“Never?”

He shakes his head slowly. 

“But—” Darcy struggles to find a response. She opens and closes her mouth, finally settling on, “How?”

To her great surprise, Lupin laughs. “Not everyone is as forgiving as you are, Darcy. Do you truly imagine that many women are keen to fall in love with a werewolf? I count myself extremely lucky that you’re still comfortable in the same room as me— and I’m sorry, again— for everything. I don’t think I’ve told you lately.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Darcy says, suddenly feeling quite sad for him. Instead of resuming play, the two of them look at each other for a long time. All she wants is for Lupin to know how much she loves him — for him to know that him being a werewolf would never make her change her mind. It seem absolutely impossible to her that no one had ever fallen in love with him, that he had never fallen in love with anyone else. Surely women ached for him as she did — surely women became quickly enamored with his smile, his ruffled hair in his face, just as she had. “Professor, I— I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Lupin asks, sounding genuinely curious. He smiles at her weakly. “I’ve been alone for a long time, and I’m used to it. I can take care of myself. But even so, I—” His smile fades as he watches her, and Lupin looks down at the chessboard, fingering one of his discarded pawns. “Darcy— all this time we’ve been spending together—”

“Professor Lupin?  _ Professor Lupin! _ ”

The sudden interruption makes them both jump. Darcy turns in her chair to look at the door, and then she looks back at Lupin, who seems to be breathing a little harder than before. 

“Professor Lupin, please— I need to talk to Darcy— it’s an— emergency!”

“Emily?” Darcy pants, her heart hammering, and she jumps from the chair and leaps to the door, Lupin on her heels. She opens the door quickly, and sure enough, Emily is standing there, catching her breath. Emily glances at Lupin for a split second and holds up a hand to greet him, and then her eyes sweep over Darcy, noticing the sweater hanging off her lanky frame. “Emily— what’s wrong? What’s happened? Are you all right?”

“I just— ran— the entire— way—” Emily inhales deeply, clutching dramatically at a stitch in her side. “Can I— come in— just for a— second?”

Darcy turns to Lupin, who nods and holds the door open for Emily to cross the threshold. He closes the door behind her, watching as Emily carefully observes her surroundings, still breathing heavily. She glances first towards the sofa, where the bottle of wine sits on the table beside two glasses, and then she looks to the table where their chessboard is still set up, some pieces set off to the side. “What’s wrong, Emily?” Darcy asks, leading her over to the sofa and setting her down. “Has something happened to Harry?”

Lupin watches from behind the sofa, quiet. Emily looks at Darcy, and then at Lupin, and then back again. “No,” she answers, and Darcy’s heart rate begins to slow. “It’s Hagrid— he’s lost Buckbeak’s appeal—”

“ _ No! _ ” Darcy cries, holding a hand to her mouth. “But— all of the work we did! How could he have lost?”

Emily’s face turns very serious. “They brought the executioner with them today,” she explains. “I was talking to Harry and we saw them— Fudge is here, and another Ministry wizard, and the executioner— Gemma says it’s someone called Macnair.”

Lupin’s voice makes them both turn their heads towards him immediately. “She’s right,” he says. “They were going down to Hagrid’s after Harry and his friends finished with the exam.”

“But— if they brought the executioner with them to the appeal…” Darcy slowly turns back to Emily, her eyebrows knitted with worry. Her blood pressure begins to rise again, her heart sinking into her stomach. “They never meant for Hagrid to— they aren’t going to—? Not today—?”

“At sundown,” Emily whispers. “Harry wanted me to come find you— I knew exactly where you must be— I ran the whole way here—”

Darcy gets to her feet suddenly and nearly trips over her own feet as she makes her way to the chess table, grabbing her blouse off the back of her chair. “I should be there,” she mutters. “I need to be with Hagrid— he shouldn’t have to do this alone—  _ unbelievable _ —”

Without thinking, Darcy grabs the end of the sweater she’s wearing and starts to pull it over her head, but both Emily and Lupin clear their throats, trying to get her attention. “Darcy, what are you doing?” Emily hisses, her eyes wide. 

Darcy flushes and looks at Lupin, his cheeks slightly pink too, who turns away at the sight of her bare stomach. “Er— sorry…” she coughs, glancing at Lupin’s back and quickly replacing the sweater with her blouse, leaving her red and gold tie hanging loose around her neck. 

Lupin turns back around and takes the sweater from her, pulling his wand out of back pocket at the sight of the red stain on Darcy’s shirt. “ _ Tergeo _ ,” he says, and Lupin’s wand siphons off the wine on her shirt. They look at each other with small, awkward smiles for a moment.

“I have to go,” she whispers, as if Emily isn’t watching them closely from the sofa. Slowly, Emily rises to her feet, walking quickly towards the door. “I have to go be with Hagrid.”

As she turns to leave, to follow Emily out of his apartments, Lupin says very clearly, “No.”

Darcy stops abruptly, turning on her heels. “What?” she scoffs. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“Darcy— you shouldn’t. You’re not supposed to be out on the grounds around sunset— especially not you and Harry—”

“Hagrid is my friend,” Darcy retorts, narrowing her eyes at him. “He needs to have someone with him. I won’t let him go through this alone.”

“You have to,” Lupin answers louder. “You can see him tomorrow, but I can’t let you go out so late. And besides, Hagrid probably doesn’t want you to have to watch his hippogriff—”

“Fine,” Darcy snaps. She looks at Emily, who nods, and Darcy resumes her trek towards the door. “I need to be with Harry.”

As the door to Lupin’s office closes behind Darcy and Emily, Emily looks warily at Darcy. “Darcy, you’re not actually going to listen to—”

Darcy pauses at the base of a staircase. Emily is halfway up it before she realizes Darcy isn’t beside her anymore. As Emily turns to look incredulously at Darcy, Darcy says, “Tell Harry, Hermione, and Ron to meet me in the entrance hall. And tell them to bring the cloak.” But Emily only beams at her. However, Emily’s smile only makes Darcy nervous, but she won’t abandon Hagrid — not now, not when Buckbeak is about to be executed. Darcy’s heart begins to pick up speed again, remember that Lupin will likely check the map to see if she’s gone, but she will not turn back. She raises her eyebrows at Emily, who hasn’t moved. “What are you waiting for?  _ Now! _ ”

Emily turns quickly and races up the steps two at a time. Darcy looks around the empty corridor, licking her lips. As she makes her way down to the entrance hall, a sudden thought occurs to her that makes her feel slightly better about going against Lupin’s wishes.

_ I’m finished with my exams. What’s the worst that could happen to me now?  _


	57. Chapter 57

With four of them under the Invisibility Cloak, it’s not so easy to maneuver. Darcy and Ron, the tallest of the four, lead Harry and Hermione slightly. Their long legs cause the cloak to lift a little bit, and Hermione hisses at them to slow down, but Darcy is eager to get to Hagrid’s as quickly as possible. Every so often, she glances over her shoulder up the path and towards the doors to Hogwarts, half-expecting Lupin to come bursting through them to drag the four of them back up to the castle. Darcy turns back towards Hagrid’s hut, looking at Ron quickly, feeling Hermione’s hair tickling the back of her neck, and Hermione’s hot breath makes Darcy uncomfortable. Once, Harry steps on the backs of Ron’s shoe and he nearly trips down the path, but Darcy catches his arm just in time and they continue down the sloping grounds as the sun lowers in the sky. Darcy checks her watch and hurries, Ron keeping pace; Hermione grabs the back of Darcy’s shirt and inches closer, trying to keep hidden under the cloak.

Darcy knocks furiously on Hagrid’s door, and when she hears the heavy footfalls inside and Fang’s barking, she takes a step back. The door opens almost immediately, and Hagrid looks about a foot above where Darcy’s head actually is. “It’s us—” Harry hisses, and Hagrid frowns, looking at the spot where Harry’s voice has just issued. “Let us in, Hagrid— we need to take off the cloak.”

Hagrid obliges, and as soon as Hermione steps foot into his hut, Harry tears the Invisibility Cloak off the four of them. Darcy inhales the fresh air deeply, running a hand through her hair, sticking up from the static. Ron throws himself into a large armchair, sighing. “Yeh shouldn’ve come,” Hagrid tells them all weakly. “Thought you of all people, Darcy, would know better than to let them all come down here— yeh’ll get into big trouble! Jus’ after finishin’ yer N.E.W.T.’s!”

“Hagrid, you should have known we’d come,” Darcy answers with a small smile, looking around the cabin. Taking Hagrid’s large arm, she guides him to the table, sitting down beside him with a hand still upon his forearm. Hagrid looks down at her with shining eyes. “Where’s Buckbeak?”

“Outside,” Hagrid says, looking wistfully towards the window facing the pumpkin patch behind his house. Harry and Ron look outside, as well. Looking around at the four of them, Hagrid makes to stand. “I’ll make some tea… Darcy, I know yeh don’ like it, but…”

“It’s fine, Hagrid,” Darcy replies. “Tea sounds wonderful.”

“Hagrid, I’ll make it,” Hermione adds, trying her best to sound cheerful. Hagrid nods and allows Hermione to rummage through his cupboards, trying to find mugs and milk. Darcy watches her carefully, noticing the tears welling in her eyes and eventually falling down her cheeks.

Harry, seated on Hagrid’s other side, asks, “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

Hagrid sighs heavily, looking down at the table. Darcy gently squeezes the part of Hagrid’s forearm she can get her fingers around. She locks eyes with Ron for a moment, who seems absolutely defeated, and her heart begins to ache for Hagrid. Through the window, she can see the tips of Buckbeak’s wings as he unfolds them for a moment. “Dumbledore tried,” Hagrid explains softly. “S’nothin’ he can do to overrule the Committee… Yeh all gave me some great stuff— and Emily and Professor Lupin— thank ‘em for me, Darcy… I appreciated all the help, but…” Hagrid’s eyes swim with tears. “Dumbledore’s gonna be here with me when it happens… and until then, at least Buckbeak will get to enjoy the fresh air… ‘spect he’s tired of bein’ cooped up in here…”

Hermione, still bustling around making tea, says, “We’ll stay with you, too, Hagrid.”

“No, yeh won’t!” Hagrid answers quickly, his voice growing gruffer all the while. “None of yeh should even be here! I don’t want yeh watchin’, and I don’t want to see yeh in trouble ‘cause of me!”

And then, Hermione screams, and Darcy jumps to her feet. Everyone looks around at her, and Hermione turns around to face them, the milk jug in her trembling hands. “What?” Darcy asks, her heart pounding again. She clutches at her chest, the interruption quite unexpected. “What’s wrong?”

“Ron— it’s Scabbers!” she shrieks.

Ron’s eyes go as wide as dinner plates, and he sits up a little straighter in the chair. “What?”

Hermione sweeps over to Ron, and gives the milk jug a slight shake. To everyone’s surprise, Scabbers drops out of it and into Ron’s lap, squeaking madly. Ron wraps his hands around him, holding him tight. Darcy scrunches her nose, looking at Scabbers with an impossible to hide look of disgust as the rat wriggles madly in Ron’s grip. Not that she’s ever thought Scabbers particularly  _ cute, _ but he has seen better days — to Darcy, throwing Scabbers out of the window and letting Buckbeak have a final meal would seem very much a mercy. The rat is thin — too thin now — and Darcy imagines Ron’s grip on him must be crushing his ribcage. Half of Scabbers is now bald, with awkward and patchy tufts of hair growing in random places, and when Scabbers turns eyes on Darcy, giving her one of those uncomfortable stares (though she feels quite foolish being made uncomfortable by a rat), Darcy wishes Ron would stuff the rat in his pocket just so she doesn’t have to look at it anymore. 

Just as Darcy opens her mouth to ask Ron to put Scabbers away, Hagrid stands up beside her. What is visible of his face turns a sickly white color, and Darcy turns towards the front door, listening carefully. Voices are echoing across the grounds, and for a moment her heart sinks, expecting to hear Professor Lupin calling their names — but it’s not Lupin. She checks her watch again and looks out of the window, where the setting sun has casted a red-gold glow over the pumpkin patch and Forbidden Forest. 

“Yeh need to go…” Hagrid mutters, looking out of a window. Darcy joins him, trying to keep her face hidden. Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge lead the group, while the Ministry official and Macnair, the executioner, trail behind them. Darcy feels a sickness in her stomach at the sight of an axe in Macnair’s hands. “Don’t want ‘em to catch yeh here… C’mon, out the back way, then…”

Hagrid opens the door for the four of them, and Ron steps out into the evening light first, Darcy right behind him. When Harry steps over the threshold, an overwhelming sense of guilt washes over Darcy at the sight of Buckbeak looking at all them helplessly. The hippogriff raises his head slightly, as if expecting Hagrid, and lowers it again at the sight of them. He digs his beak into the ground, pecking for bugs, and Darcy purses her lips, turning back to Hagrid. But it seems that all of her friends have also had the same idea —

“Hagrid, we’ll stay—”

“We  _ saw _ what happened, we’ll tell them—”

“We can’t leave you—”

“I’m of age, they can’t say anything about me—”

“Go!” Hagrid urges them quietly as someone knocks on his front door.

Darcy looks into his face as Hermione throws the cloak back over the four of them. Ron has to give Hermione a push to get her to move, and they quietly make their way around Hagrid’s hut, keeping a distance from the front door as the four men shuffle into Hagrid’s house. Darcy looks back at Buckbeak one last time, willing Harry and Hermione to keep up with her and Ron’s long steps. All she wants to do is get as far away from Buckbeak as possible, not wanting to hear the swooshing of an axe, not wanting to hear Hagrid’s screams or Buckbeak’s terrified squealing or whatever sound hippogriffs make seconds before their life ends… 

When Darcy takes a sudden step towards the castle, the cloak catches her face and suffocates her. She adjusts herself, looking back to see what the matter is, but Ron has stopped, and Harry’s walked right into him. “Let’s go!” she whispers, and Hermione pleads with Ron to keep moving away from Hagrid’s cabin. “What are we waiting for?”

“It’s Scabbers!” Ron snaps in Darcy’s face, holding up the struggling rat. Darcy takes a step backwards, stepping painfully on Hermione’s foot. Darcy’s eyes flick down to the rat in his hands, who seems to be desperate for escape. “Stop it, Scabbers! There aren’t any cats here to get you!” He grunts, fumbling with Scabbers and almost dropping him. “It’s just me, you idiot!”

“Come on!” Hermione gives Ron a small push in the small of the back and Ron continues to walk, his strides shortening as he fights with Scabbers still. “I hear them! Oh— please— please!”

They make it a few more feet up the lawn when Ron stops again. Over the squealing of Scabbers, Darcy can make out faint voices down at Hagrid’s cabin, but can’t hear what they’re saying. She looks up at the doors to the castle again, hoping that they’ll make it back before Lupin even notices what they’ve done. “We have to  _ go _ ,” Darcy growls, grabbing Ron’s arm, but he jerks away from her. “Ron, come on!”

Ron looks at her, making to protest, but before any words come out, Darcy hears only complete silence, a lack of voices, and her other friends seem to notice this ominous sign. Within seconds of noticing the silence, Darcy can hear the swishing of something very heavy cutting through the air, the dull thud of something heavy hitting the ground, and Hagrid’s howling cries. Darcy sways on her feet, clutching her stomach, and without warning, vomits at her feet. Harry jumps back in alarm, looking pale and sweaty. Hermione scrunches her nose, tears flowing down her face, but Ron continues to fight with Scabbers, trying to force the rat into his pocket, his face tinted slightly green. 

“Hagrid…” Harry mutters, and he casts a fearful look at Darcy before turning to run back towards the cabin. Darcy and Hermione grab him, attempting to pull him and force Ron to continue up towards the castle. 

“We have to go back—” Darcy sighs, releasing Harry’s arm and looking pleadingly at him. “Please— we have to go back— there’s nothing we can do anymore.”

Ron nods in agreement. “Let’s not make it worse by going back down there.”

“How  _ could _ they?” Hermione whispers, hands shaking violently. “ _ How could they? _ ”

The four of them start to walk back up towards the castle, their pace a little slower. Darcy walks on shaky legs that threaten to collapse beneath her, and every so often clutches Ron’s shoulder for support, but when she reaches out for him for a third time, her left knee buckling, Ron jumps and yelps. “ _ Ouch!  _ He bit me!” he cries, holding up his finger to show Darcy the tiny teeth marks where Scabbers had indeed bitten him. A few drops of blood trickle down his finger, but he wipes it on his shirt, squeezing Scabbers a bit harder than before. “What the hell is wrong with you, you idiot?”

With Scabbers squeaking louder than ever, Darcy looks down at the rat in Ron’s hands. Finally deciding the best course of action, she reaches for her wand, prepared to Stun it, or Transfigure it, or make it  _ shut up _ — whatever it takes to keep him from distracting Ron. She wraps her fingers around the handle of her wand, preparing to pull it from her back pocket as if unsheathing a sword.

“Crookshanks!” Hermione moans from behind her, and Darcy releases her wand, spinning around and nearly tangling herself in the cloak. “Crookshanks, no! Go away!”

Darcy squints through the growing darkness, but sees Crookshanks almost immediately, his wide yellow eyes visible even with darkness settling around them. She looks from the cat to Scabbers and back again, sighing heavily and running a hand through her hair. Scabbers continues to squirm, continues to attempt to bite at Ron’s fingers, accidentally biting himself in the process. Crookshanks watches all the while, and Darcy holds back a loud scream, looking at Ron with a very exasperated expression. “Sorry, Ron—” she says roughly, pulling her wand out from her pocket and pointing the tip directly at Scabbers, who seems to have realized what she’s about to do. “But this ends now— we need to get back up to the—”

As Ron’s eyes widen with comprehension, his grip on Scabbers loosens a little. And in the split second before his fingers clamp tightly around Scabbers again, Scabbers seizes the opportunity. Out of the corner of Darcy’s eye, she watches Crookshanks creep nearer and nearer, his eyes upon them despite the Invisibility Cloak, but she doesn’t doubt the cat can hear Scabbers’s desperate attempt to free himself — and he does. Scabbers slips through Ron’s fingers and hits the ground hard. Without taking a moment to recover, Scabbers rolls onto his front and scurries away through the grass and into the darkness. Crookshanks follows, moving quickly across the grounds, and Ron chases after them, exposing himself and leaving the three of them still huddled under the cloak.

“Ron!” Hermione says through gritted teeth, looking back at Harry and Darcy when he doesn’t respond. Without another moment’s hesitation, as if all three of them have the same idea, they tear the cloak off of them, letting it sink to the ground behind them as they sprint after Ron, Darcy leading them. The summer night air whips her in her face as her legs carry her quickly towards Ron, but just as she reaches him, he stops, diving at the ground. Without having time to stop herself, Darcy’s foot catches Ron in the side and she falls face first onto the ground, rolling away from him and feeling a sharp pain in her wrist. 

Darcy gets to her hands and knees, her head pounding from the fall, slightly dizzy. She looks up to see Ron cradling Scabbers in his hands, but looks past him as something darker than the night catches her eye — something that looks eerily familiar, that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The eyes shine in the darkness and Darcy pushes herself to her feet, narrowing her eyes at the shadow as she reaches for her wand, for Ron doesn’t seem to have noticed it watching him… 

And before she can cast a single spell, Darcy watches as the creatures leaps at Harry almost as if in slow motion. Four legs and shaggy, black fur — a large dog, snarling and growling and baring its long, pointed teeth. Its front paws hit Harry hard in the chest and Harry is knocked to the ground; Hermione runs towards him as the dog continues towards Ron without a second look at Harry. Up close, Darcy recognizes it instantly as the creature she’d seen all those months ago in Privet Drive, just before the Knight Bus had caused it to flee. Darcy shivers, and the dog charges her instead of Ron suddenly — but instead of pouncing as it had done to Harry, the dog merely paws hard at her wand arm, knocking her wand out of her grasp, and then it turns away from her and opens its mouth wide. The dog’s teeth clamp around Ron’s leg and he shouts, falling to the ground and reaching for Darcy, who’s nearest him, his one hand still holding Scabbers tight.

Darcy grabs Ron’s sweaty hand, trying to keep the dog from pulling him away, but the dog is much stronger and Darcy’s feet slide in the grass and she feels that Ron’s arm will surely pop right off if she continues to hold on and play tug-of-war with such a large dog. Hearing Harry and Hermione screaming and crying out incoherently behind her, Darcy turns her head very slightly to look at them, still holding Ron’s hand very tightly, but his hand is drenched with sweat… and it’s so hard to hold on… 

_ WHAM!  _

Darcy screams as pain shoot through her face. Something has smacked her hard across the face, feeling as if her entire head has been split open. Ron’s hand is torn from her’s as he’s pulled away, disappearing into the darkness, and Darcy watches as the dog pulls him down a small opening at the base of a trunk, or attempts to, as Ron hooks one of his legs around a tangle of root — and suddenly, Darcy drops to the ground, dodging another incoming branch the Whomping Willow aims at her. She frantically searches in the grass for her wand, but before she can find it, a branch strikes her across the chest. Darcy lies flat on her back, breathless, the wind completely knocked out of her, and she struggles to sit up. Gasping for breath, Darcy forces herself into a sitting position when she hears a loud  _ CRACK _ throughout the grounds, and Darcy watches, horrified, as Ron’s now broken leg is dragged down into the roots at the base of the tree — the same passage that Darcy had once followed Professor Lupin down…

Darcy crawls out of range of the next branch that comes towards her, and Harry and Hermione dash forward, helping Darcy to her feet. Darcy moves backwards a few more paces and collapses between them. 

“We have to get help!” Hermione pants, gripping her bleeding shoulder. Darcy looks at Harry, whose cheek is bleeding, and then back at Hermione. “We have to—”

“Are you  _ insane? _ ” Darcy asks incredulously, wide-eyed. “We can’t leave Ron!” She turns desperately to Harry. “Professor Lupin, Harry— he’s got the map— he’ll see we’re here—”

Harry catches his breath for a moment, looking down at his sister. He nods, and then looks at the tree again, still waving its thick branches around, ready for its next target.

“We won’t be able to get to Ron!” Hermione replies, her voice a little higher than it had been. “How are we supposed to—?”

“I know how,” Darcy says suddenly, and both Harry and Hermione look at her, narrowing their eyes. “I know how to get through— I need my wand, though— it’s there—”

But before she can finish her sentence, or even start to tell either of them how to get the tree to freeze, Crookshanks is at the base of the tree. He looks at them with his big, yellow eyes and pushes on the knot Darcy had once prodded with a broken branch, and at once, the tree freezes. The branches become still, and once more, the tree is nothing more than a normal tree. Darcy lays back in the grass for just a second, to sigh a heavy sigh of relief, and then she gets to her feet and urges Harry and Hermione to follow her to the place where the dog had just dragged Ron. On the way there, Darcy finds her wand, grabs it, and without instructing Harry or Hermione on what to do, slides down the small opening, hoping with all her heart that Lupin is watching the Marauder’s Map.

This time, Darcy doesn’t scream as she slides down the earthen chute, landing on her feet in the dark passageway. She moves forward a little, and Harry hits the ground next, followed by Hermione, who nearly knocks them both over. Darcy hesitates, looking down the tunnel, and she lifts her wand, giving her wrist a small flick; the tip of her wand lights up, casting a blue-white light around them. Darcy looks down at her hands, one of which is bloodstained, and she touches her jaw, where the Whomping Willow’s branch had hit her and broken skin.

“Where does this lead?” Hermione asks quietly, her whisper echoing throughout the tunnel.

Darcy holds her wand up higher, wiping her bloody hand on her skirt. “It leads to the Shrieking Shack,” she explains softly, avoiding Hermione’s gaze. “Come on— let’s go.”

“How do you—?” Harry starts.

She gives Harry a withering stare, softening slightly at his concerned expression. “I’ve been down here before— I’ll explain later— let’s go find Ron.”

Darcy follows Crookshanks down the tunnel, holding her wand high to illuminate their very limited surroundings. Harry and Hermione follow her, their footsteps ringing in Darcy’s throbbing head. Her heart pounds loudly in her chest, and Darcy feels as though it’s that autumn night again, as if she’s chasing after Lupin again. Eventually, Darcy finds herself at the trapdoor and she lifts herself through it, pulling Hermione and Harry up quietly by the hand. She brushes herself off, extinguishing the light at the tip of her wand and looking around for a second.

Dust has already covered the footprints she, Lupin, and Snape had made all those months ago. Now, there is only a wide stripe where Ron’s body had been dragged, and pawprints from the dog that had dragged him. All is quiet except for the occasional settling of the house and Darcy looks up the half-collapsed staircase. She looks at her brother and Hermione — Hermione’s eyes are wide and she’s holding tight to Harry’s arm. Darcy suddenly wishes Lupin were here, if only to have some source of comfort and reassurance, and she listens for a sign that he’s coming, but all she can hear are soft moans coming from the upper floor, some muffled scuffling. 

Darcy motions towards the staircase, and the three of them tip-toe up it, wands held at the ready. Upon reaching the landing, Darcy spies the wall that Lupin had thrown her against — the wooden wall seems to have splintered and broken when she’d hit it, but Darcy never noticed, having been too busy worrying about the werewolf about to attack. Even remembering the terror she had felt as Lupin looked down at her with his jaws open, Darcy flexes her fingers, wanting to hold his hand, wanting to feel his fingers lace with her’s. 

The sounds are coming from the same room where she’d glimpsed Lupin before. The door is closed, and Darcy reaches out for the doorknob, her hand shaking. She isn’t sure what will be behind the door — isn’t sure if the dog is still there, if the dog will attack her next. But knowing that they must help Ron before it’s too late, Darcy opens the door slightly and Harry bursts in, shouldering past her.

Purring fills Darcy’s ears, and she spots Crookshanks on the dusty bed in the corner. Ron’s bright red hair is all that’s visible to her as Harry and Hermione crowd him, cooing over his broken leg and attempting to help him to his feet. Ron pushes them aside, pointing at a place just over Darcy’s shoulder, fear in his eyes. “It’s a trap— he’s the dog— he an Animagus—”

Darcy spins around quickly, startled at the sight of someone in the other corner of the room. He shuts the door quickly, and Darcy takes a few steps back towards Harry, Hermione, and Ron, placing herself in front of them. 

“ _ Expelliarmus! _ ”

It’s a croaking voice, one she wouldn’t have expected to come from him. Darcy barely registers her wand flying up into the air, barely registers it being caught by Sirius Black. Whatever fear she had been feeling only seconds before is suddenly gone, along with all her other emotions. Darcy is frozen, unable to move her feet, and the entire world around her seems to stop. For months she’s been dreaming of him, and looking at him now, he is nothing compared to what she sees in her dreams.

Sirius Black meets her eyes for the first time, only for a split second, but to Darcy, it’s a lifetime. His hair is dark and slightly graying, longer than Darcy’s, hanging to his elbows, and the sight of his face is enough to give Darcy nightmares for another few months — but despite his sunken eyes and tight skin and skeletal appearance, Darcy thinks she sees a flicker of recognition in his eyes when he looks at her. But this is not the Sirius Black that she had known, and Darcy remembers words Lupin had once said to her: “ _ Whatever Sirius Black was before — he’s not that young boy anymore… _ ”

And then, when he speaks again, Darcy is brought to the crushing realization that Lupin was  _ right. _ If Sirius did love her, he surely would have spared her more than a half second’s glance — surely would have hesitated upon seeing her… 

“I thought you’d come for your friend,” Sirius rasps, and Darcy suddenly feels tears well painfully in her eyes. She looks away from Sirius Black, not able to look at his face any longer — how could she possibly look into his eyes now, someone who she had once loved? The knowledge that Sirius Black is the reason behind her ability to cast a Patronus makes her feel suddenly very unclean. “Your father would have done the same for me…”

Darcy takes a step back closer to her brother and friends, unsure of what will come.  _ He will not have Harry, _ she tells herself.  _ Whatever happens, he will not have Harry. _ Harry goes to move, placing a hand on Darcy’s arm to push her aside, to charge Sirius Black, but Darcy grabs the back of his shirt and Hermione screams, “No!” and grabs his wrist, holding him back. 

“If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us, too!” 

Darcy turns around to see Ron standing, looking green again. She wants to speak, to agree with Ron, to tell Sirius Black that she would die before letting him get to Harry, but she can’t find her voice. Darcy feels breathless, as if she’s just sprinted here from Gryffindor Tower, and all she can do is catch Ron as he falls forward, his leg giving out. Ron holds on tightly to Darcy, his fingers digging into her arms, and she grips him just the same, looking back at Sirius Black. Darcy takes her left hand and snatches at Harry, pulling him back to her and Ron, and Hermione inches closer, standing tall behind Darcy’s back. 

_ Let him kill me _ , she thinks, adrenaline surging through her.  _ Let him kill me. Please, don’t let him kill anyone but me.  _

“Lie down before you damage that leg even more,” Sirius says, and the concern in his voice makes Darcy wary. 

And finally, Darcy finds her voice. “Don’t talk to him!” she shouts, holding Harry and Ron tighter to her, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Hermione is still there. “I won’t let you touch any of them!”

Sirius smiles. Darcy frowns at him, trying hard not to remember what his smile had looked like on the day of her parents’ wedding — trying hard not remember how handsome he’d once been while letting Darcy sleep on his chest… “There will only be one murder tonight,” he tells her. “And it will not be yours—”

Harry wriggles in Darcy’s hold. “Only one?” he snaps, and Darcy wishes he’d hold his tongue, hoping he doesn’t give Sirius a reason to kill them all at once. “We know what you did— you killed all those Muggles and  _ laughed _ about it! Gone soft in Azkaban, have you?”

“Harry!” Hermione whispers.

“He killed my mum and dad!” 

Harry breaks free from Darcy’s grip and rushes Sirius. Darcy watches, horrified, as Harry takes advantage of Sirius’s moment of shock, knocking him to the ground and landed a solid punch to Sirius’s temple. In Darcy’s ear, Hermione screams. Darcy turns, shoving Ron into Hermione’s empty arms.

“Harry,  _ no— _ Harry!”

As Harry falls on top of Sirius, Darcy dives into the mix. Crookshanks leaps from the bed and lands on Darcy’s shoulder, clamping onto her. His claws sink deep into the scars already present and she hisses at Crookshanks before throwing him off. Darcy grabs the back of Harry’s shirt, and his elbow flies back, cracking against Darcy’s nose, and she tastes the familiar metallic taste of blood — “Not again!” 

And out of nowhere, Hermione’s foot comes swishing past Darcy’s face, kicking Sirius in the side. There’s a grunt and a clatter as the four wands in Sirius’s hands fall to the floor, and Darcy hears Ron thump against the ground, crawling towards them. A wand rolls close to Harry, and Darcy reaches out for it, but Harry is quicker. He grabs his wand off the ground as Sirius goes to put his fingers around her brother’s throat.

With a strength that surprises even her, Darcy manages to rip Harry off of Sirius’s chest, just as Sirius goes to throw a punch — with Harry out of the way, his fist hits Darcy in the cheek and she falls backwards, clutching her hands to her face and crying out in pain.

“Darcy—” Sirius croaks. “I didn’t—”

“ _ Shut up! _ ” Harry shouts, and Darcy peeks through her fingers to see her brother pointing at her. Harry drops to her side, circling an arm around her shoulder. “Look what you’ve done!” And quickly, without thinking, Harry jumps to his feet again and pulls out his wand, pointing it at Sirius, still laying on the ground. Darcy notices his hands are shaking. 

Hermione whimpers, but moves closer to Darcy, taking her hands and lowering them from her face. Producing a handkerchief, Hermione pinches Darcy’s broken nose very lightly and holds the cloth to her nostrils; Darcy watches blood soak it. At the same time, Darcy can feel her jaw and cheek beginning to swell and bruise badly, and she tries to open her mouth, but it hurts something awful. She glances at Ron, still on the bed, still clutching at his broken leg with his face the greenest she’s seen it yet.. 

“Are you going to kill me?”

For the span of a heartbeat, Darcy’s forgotten Sirius is there with them, lying on the floor with Crookshanks curled up on his chest. He’s smiling incredulously, his teeth blackened by years of a lack of hygiene, his face caked with dried blood, sweat, dirt and mud; his hair, once so well-groomed and sleek, is now matted and tangled so Sirius looks as if he has a rather bad case of mange. His dark eyes flick towards Darcy every so often, and when he does so and sees the state she is in, his smile flickers for a brief second. 

“You’re the reason our parents are dead,” Harry murmurs, moving closer to Sirius, his wand outstretched. “You killed them—”

“I don’t deny it but—” Sirius rasps, attempting to shake Crookshanks off his chest. “Let me see a wand— Darcy’s nose— I can fix it—”

Harry whirls around to look at Darcy, watching Hermione’s white handkerchief turn a deep scarlet as blood continues to flow from her nose. She’s starting to feel light-headed, and feels the color drain from her face. “Are you all right?” Harry asks her quietly, his bottom lip quivering. 

Darcy nods very slowly, despite the fact that she is not all right, and Hermione pinches the bridge of her nose tighter, starting to panic. Darcy feels tears slip down her cheeks, and she grasps at Hermione’s wrist, silently begging her to stop pinching so hard. Hermione helps her sit in a slightly uneven chair, and Darcy tilts her head back, praying for the bleeding to stop, praying for the throbbing in her jaw to stop. 

“You have to listen to me—” Sirius utters, trying very quickly to get his words out. “You need to understand— Darcy— Darcy, don’t you remember—”

Darcy ignores him, not wanting to hear his voice, not wanting to hear him saying her name. Harry turns back to Sirius, his wand shaking more violently. Sirius stares back at him, waiting for a curse that Darcy knows will never come — that Darcy knows Harry would never be able to cast. Crookshanks still purrs on Sirius’s chest, his bottlebrush tail waving casually in the air. And then, Darcy hears footsteps — heavy footsteps, that are scrambling around downstairs, leaping up the stairs two or three at a time —

“We’re up here!” Hermione shouts, and she pinches Darcy’s nose harder than usual. Darcy gives another yelp before Hermione stops pinching her nose altogether. “Help! We’re here! Help— Sirius Black!”

The footsteps are just outside the door — the doorknob doesn’t turn, however — whoever is coming kicks the door in, and relief spreads through Darcy’s body as she sees who it is. Lupin looks around, eyes wide and hair disheveled. His eyes fall on everyone and everything — Harry pointing his wand at Sirius, Crookshanks still purring loudly; Ron lying on the bed, grasping at a terribly broken leg; Hermione, her blood soaked handkerchief still pressed to Darcy’s nose, a weak smile on her pale face, glad they’re about to be saved; and then to Darcy, white-faced, shaking, bleeding freely, and sweating. Her eyes are heavy now, and she feels dizzy… but he’s here… she knew that Lupin would come for them… she knew that Lupin would be watching the map… 

“ _ Expelliarmus _ !” 

Darcy opens her eyes quickly, startled to see Harry’s wand in Lupin’s hand, as well as the other three Ron had saved. 

“Where is he, Sirius?” Lupin asks, his voice quiet and tense. 

And very slowly, from the corner of the room, Sirius raises his arm and points at Ron. Crookshanks circles around his head, bushy tail brushing against the stiff and faded clothes he’s wearing and his long hair. Darcy looks at Ron, bewildered, and for a moment the only sounds are the terrified squealing of Scabbers, wriggling in Ron’s hands. Not understanding at all, Darcy looks to Lupin, hoping for an explanation, but she’s afraid of one — she doesn’t want to hear that Lupin has been helping Sirius — doesn’t want to hear that by the end of the night, they’ll all be dead, murdered the same way her parents were… She looks at Sirius on the ground and is surprised to find him looking back at her. 

“But— it can’t be—” Lupin’s brow furrows as he looks at Ron, but when Darcy follows his line of vision, she realizes he’s not looking at Ron, but at the squirming rat in his hands. “Unless he transformed—? Cut it off himself—?”

“What?” Ron shouts, his face greener than five seconds previously. “I’m not— what are you talking about?”

And then, her vision slightly blurry, Darcy watches as Lupin extends his free hand to Sirius. The latter accepts the hand up, and Sirius rises to his feet. Hermione gasps, but Darcy doesn’t have the energy; Harry stumbles backwards to his sister as Lupin and Sirius embrace tightly, holding each other for a long moment before holding each other at arm's’ length. “No—” Darcy mumbles, feeling sick to her stomach, and she’s sure it isn’t because of the massive amount of blood loss. 

Hermione turns over her handkerchief shakily, placing the last clean spot to Darcy’s nose again, and Darcy feels a rush of affection for Hermione.  _ This can’t be real,  _ she tells herself.  _ I’ll wake in a moment, in the hospital wing.  _ Her entire face still seems to have its own heartbeat, and Darcy’s feels her own heart begin to hammer in her chest painfully. She opens her mouth to speak, to say  _ something _ — but Harry beats her to it.

“I trusted you,” Harry snaps at Lupin, looking sideways at Darcy. “ _ Darcy _ trusted you— and you’ve been his friend all this time!”

Lupin shakes his head frantically, looking straight at Darcy. Holding up his hands in surrender, still holding not only his wand, but her’s, Harry’s and Hermione’s too. “No, I haven’t— listen to me—” Lupin takes a step closer. “Let me fix your nose, Darcy—”

“Get away from her!” Hermione shrieks, and everyone seems surprised to hear Hermione speak to Lupin with such an sharp tone. Lupin stops where he is, looking at Darcy apologetically. Hermione looks from Darcy to Harry. “Don’t listen to him— he’s been helping Black get into castle— he wants you dead— he’s a  _ werewolf _ !”

A heavy silence falls over them all at Hermione’s words. “ _ No _ ,” Lupin replies calmly. He looks at Hermione, looking half exasperated and half resigned. His eyes find Darcy again, occasionally glancing at Harry for a few seconds. “I have  _ not _ been Sirius’s friend, but I am now— I can explain— and I do  _ not _ want any of you dead, especially not—” He scans the room again, eyes lingering on Darcy before looking over his shoulder at Ron, who looks as if he’s just walked into a bad dream. “But I cannot deny that I am a werewolf. How long have you known?”

Darcy looks to Hermione, hoping the conversation will end so she can get real help. “Ever since I did Professor Snape’s essay,” she answers nervously, shying away Lupin and nuzzling into Darcy’s side. 

“He’ll be delighted. That was, indeed, his plan all along,” Lupin laughs. “You’re the cleverest witch of your age I’ve ever met, Hermione.”

Darcy closes her eyes.  _ Someone help me. _ Between the pain in her face and the aching in her heart and the churning in her stomach, Darcy feels anger start to rise in her. Why are they having such a stupid conversation when she’s about to bleed out on the floor? Darcy opens her eyes again looking at Lupin, begging him for help without speaking. After all, he’d been good to her — he had never tried to hurt her — had always been so sorry about her shoulder — but then, she remembers,  _ Sirius claimed to love me once, and now look _ … 

“If I’d have been a bit cleverer, I would have told everyone what you are!” Hermione continues.

“But they already do,” Lupin answers, his eyes flicking from Hermione to Darcy and back again. “Darcy’s known all this time, in fact.”

“What?” her friends ask all at once, and everyone’s eyes are upon her. 

Darcy looks around, taking Hermione’s wrists and lowering her hands from her face. Sitting up straighter in the chair, Darcy nods, wiping the small stream of blood on the back of her hand, staining her skin. She can still taste the blood on her lips, but the bleeding has finally slowed. She shivers, remembering  the night she’d come here before, the night she’d seen Lupin in his bestial state, the night he’d attacked her. “I followed him. It was my fault— I caused Snape to drop his potion one night— that’s why he attacked me,” she whispers, her voice uneven and cracking. “I followed him here, to the Shrieking Shack, and I didn’t realize what would be here— I thought— I thought he was coming to meet with Sirius. And then, Snape found me— he’d seen me following Professor Lupin and he saved my life before any real damage was done…”

There’s silence as everyone processes this for a moment. “When was this?” Hermione whispers, as if finally understanding something. 

Darcy looks into Lupin’s eyes, raising her fingers to the buttons on her blouse. She loosens her tie and undoes the top two buttons, pulling her collar aside to reveal the long scars on her left shoulder. Harry, Hermione, and Ron gasp and make noises of surprise. Still looking at Lupin, Darcy answers. “I never went flying that night— the Whomping Willow never scarred me.”

“And Dumbledore  _ allowed  _ you to stay?” Ron asks Lupin, his eyes glued to Darcy’s shoulder, even as she covers the scars again. “After what you did?”

“I told Dumbledore I didn’t want him sacked,” Darcy says to Ron. “I asked Professor Lupin to stay.”

No one seems to be able to think of a suitable response to this admission. Darcy looks at Harry, who looks very pale. He frowns, looking as if holding back tears, and Darcy looks away from him. Lupin takes another step towards Darcy. “Let me fix your nose.”

“Don’t touch her!” Harry yells, and Lupin scowls at him.

He turns to Ron, instead. “Let me at least set your leg— until we can get you back to Madam Pomfrey—”

“Get away from me,  _ werewolf _ !” Ron grabs at his broken leg, trying to move away from Lupin.

Lupin seems to have expected this reaction. He runs his hand through his hair and turns back to Darcy. “Please, let me fix your nose, and I’ll explain everything—”

“Be quick about it,” Sirius snaps, staring at Scabbers all the while. “I don’t know how much longer I can sit here and wait…”

Darcy, against her better judgement, nods her head. To have Lupin close to her would be a blessing, and part of her can’t  _ really _ believe he’s working with Sirius Black… It’s impossible, right? He had been so sweet to her only this afternoon, had smiled at her and told her secrets and allowed her to wear his clothes… As Lupin moves quickly towards her, Harry and Hermione jump in between them once again, and Lupin sighs in frustration. “Let him come,” Darcy whispers, looking up into Lupin’s face. “It’s all right.”

Harry scrunches his nose, staying put while Hermione moves aside. “What are you going to do to my sister?”

“I’m going to— you know what—” Lupin quickly holds out everyone’s wands. He passes them around to Harry, Darcy, Hermione, and Ron, and then Lupin holds out his own wand, pointing it at Darcy’s face and speaking directly to her. “I’ll fix your nose, give you my wand, and I’ll explain. Do you trust me?”

Darcy swallows hard. “Yes.”

Lupin nods, smiling at her, and he keeps his wand steady. Darcy closes her eyes and holds her breath, hoping she won’t regret this, and Lupin mutters, “ _ Episkey _ .” 

There’s a sharp pain as Darcy’s broken nose fixes itself and she cries out, touching her nose, but the pain slowly subsides and becomes nothing more than a dull ache. Lupin pulls out a clean handkerchief and touches the tip of his wand to it, where a stream of water issues and dampens the cloth. Lupin then hands her his wand without hesitation, hunching over her in the chair and touching her face, making sure that her nose is fully healed.

Pressing the damp cloth to Darcy’s bloody lips, Darcy knows that he could just use a spell to clean her. This small gesture, however, is to Darcy a sign of loyalty. And she knows, as Lupin wipes her face ever so gently, that he  _ does _ care for her, that whatever explanation he has to offer will  _ surely _ be the truth. Lupin’s face is so close to her’s now, and she looks at his lips, desperate to be kissed. Then her eyes find Sirius again, who watches their interaction very closely. 

“Darcy was with me earlier,” Lupin begins, speaking to a silent room, save for the mad squealing that comes from Scabbers. “Emily came to tell us about Hagrid’s hippogriff, and I told Darcy she wasn’t to go, but…” He lowers his voice, speaking to Darcy with a small smile. Lupin’s free hand touches her cheek as he dabs at the slick blood on her face. “I knew you weren’t going to listen.” 

“You were watching the map,” Darcy says breathlessly, her jaw still aching. 

“Yes,” he answers, speaking to the room at large again. “I saw the four of you going down the path to Hagrid’s—”

“ _ You  _ know how to work that map?” Harry asks.

Lupin jumps slightly, as if he’s forgotten there are other people in the room with him. He continues to wipe blood off of Darcy’s chin, his eyebrows furrowed. “The map— of course I know how to work it— I helped make it,” Lupin says quickly, as if this isn’t an important fact. “Moony was what my friends called me in school— anyway, I saw the four of you enter Hagrid, but there were  _ five _ of you coming back up to the school—”

“No,” Harry interrupts again. “It was only us—”

“No, Harry,” Lupin says calmly, lowering both hands from Darcy’s face and looking at Harry. Very slowly, he gets to his feet. “There were five of you— you, Darcy, Ron, Hermione and another, by the name of Peter Pettigrew.”

“That’s impossible,” Darcy murmurs, holding her jaw. “Peter Pettigrew is dead— we were all in the Three Broomsticks that day— we all heard them say Sirius killed him.” She chances a glance at Sirius, and panic floods her again. All those things she wanted to say to him, to his face — she wants so badly to say them, but is so terrified of hearing the answers. To know that, maybe, Sirius  _ never  _ loved her, and the disappointment of knowing such love was never real would surely break her heart. To know that, maybe, it  _ was  _ all just a dream… 

“I thought so too, Darcy,” Lupin continues, speaking very quickly now. Then he stops, breathing very heavily, and Lupin turns to Ron, making him jump. Scabbers begins to struggle harder against Ron’s hold. “Ron, do you think I could have a look at that rat?”

“Scabbers?” Ron looks down at the rat in his hands. “What’s — what Scabbers have to do with any of this?”

“That’s not a rat,” Sirius says suddenly, and Scabbers seems to be desperate for freedom. “That’s a wizard.”

Ron scoffs, looking nervously at Darcy, Harry, and Hermione. “No, he’s a rat!”

Darcy looks at Lupin curiously, getting to her feet very carefully. It can’t be possible… surely Lupin and Sirius are just mad, and yet… she had just allowed Lupin to fix her nose, to clean her face, and he had done so with the utmost tenderness… If he did mean them harm, wouldn’t he have taken advantage of that moment? Why would he suggest such an outrageous explanation if he and Sirius were just going to kill them? “Professor Lupin,” she whispers, turning her gaze upon Scabbers, her fingers brushing against Lupin’s arm. “Who is that?”

“An Animagus,” Sirius responds before Lupin can open his mouth to speak. Darcy looks at Sirius for the longest time since she’s been in the room with him. “Peter Pettigrew.”


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew.... had these chapters half done for months

“No!” Harry shouts, sounding frustrated. “Darcy’s just said it— Pettigrew’s dead!  _ He  _ killed him!” Harry points to Sirius, but Sirius is still looking at Scabbers with a face contorted with rage. 

“I meant to— but he got the better of me—” And without warning, Sirius lunges towards Ron, stretching his bony figures out to grab Scabbers. Hermione screams from behind Darcy, and Lupin rushes forward, pulling Sirius off Ron. 

“Sirius, you can’t do it like this—! They don’t understand!” Lupin pants, motioning around at Darcy, Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Sounding frantic, he continues. “Darcy and Harry deserve the truth, Sirius. We need to explain—”

Sirius hesitates, looking at Lupin for a long time. “Fine,” he croaks. “Tell them whatever you like, Remus— just make it quick.”

In the short amount of time between Sirius speaking, and Lupin giving an answer, Darcy’s ears perk up. She looks quickly towards the door, still wide open from when Lupin had kicked it in. The house settles, the walls creak for a moment, yet in between the normal sounds of an old and damaged home, Darcy thinks for a moment she hears a footstep coming from the hallway — a footstep and the groaning of the floor, very faintly. Darcy looks at everyone else in the room, but no one seems to have heard anything, and Lupin’s voice fills her ears once more.

“I suppose it all started with my being bitten…” Lupin begins, but then Darcy hears another footstep in earnest this time, and the door opens very, very slightly. 

She’s not the only person who has noticed this time; everyone is looking towards the doorway, but no more noise issues. There is only silence, and Ron finally breaks it — “This place is haunted!”

Lupin shakes his head slowly, eyes fixed on the doorway, eyebrows knitted. He turns back to Ron almost reluctantly. “No,” he says. “I told Darcy months ago that this house was built for me when I came to Hogwarts as a student.” He pauses, looks at Darcy for a moment, and then continues. “I was a very small boy when I received the bite, you see, and the potion that I take now to make me safe— it’s a recent discovery, not having been around when I was a student. Wolfsbane allows me to keep my mind, but when I was younger, I didn’t have that luxury— I became a fully fledged monster once a month.”

Darcy and Harry exchange glances. She swallows loudly, unsure of where this is going or why they’re being told this. Her body is sore and the room still begins to swim every few minutes, and all she wants is to fall asleep and wake up and know this has all just been a bad dream. All she wants is to leave this room, to be with Harry, to be far away from Sirius Black.

“My father thought there was no way I would be allowed to go to school, to be around other children, for fear that I would bite someone,” Lupin explains. “You can understand why parents wouldn’t want their children exposed to me, knowing that risk. But Dumbledore— he was sympathetic. He promised certain precautions would be made— this house, and the Whomping Willow— and I would be able to come to school.”

Darcy remembers speaking to Dumbledore, the day after Lupin had attacked her. She remembers being surprised at his reaction, having expected him to be angry beyond belief, but he hadn’t really wanted to fire Lupin. He would have, had Darcy asked him to, but now she recalls Dumbledore did seem to have great sympathy for Lupin.  

“My transformations were— terrible,” Lupin says. “But besides that, I was happy. I had found three best friends— the first friends I ever had— Sirius, Peter Pettigrew, and your father,” he gives both Darcy and Harry significant looks, “James Potter. And they didn’t fail to notice my monthly absences. They soon found out what I was, and they did something that made my transformations almost bearable.”

Darcy looks at Sirius, then at Scabbers, and then back to Lupin. Lupin’s story begins to make more sense, but it’s ridiculous — why wouldn’t he have told her this? After all Darcy had told him, why had Lupin kept this to himself? “They became Animagi,” she finishes, her voice soft. 

“I don’t understand how that could have helped you,” Hermione cuts in. 

“As animals, they could keep me company when I transformed… keep me in check if I was getting out of hand. Having them around made me less dangerous, and the four of us were soon roaming the grounds once a month by the full moon,” Lupin replies. “That’s how the Marauder’s Map came to be— we soon knew the grounds better than anyone. I was Moony, Sirius was Padfoot, Peter was Wormtail, and James was Prongs.”

Darcy frowns, her heart still racing. Why hadn’t he told her? When she had asked for information about her parents, this is the kind of information she had wanted — exciting stories to remember her parents by, yet Lupin had never mentioned this before. She glances at Sirius again, but he doesn’t seem to be contradicting Lupin, nor does he seem surprised by Lupin’s story. He looks infuriated still, staring from Scabbers to Lupin to Darcy and back again. Lupin looks at Darcy for a long time, and continues to look at her when he speaks again. 

“I wanted to tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus…” he sighs. “But telling Dumbledore would be a direct admission of betraying his trust, and his trust has meant everything to me.” Lupin runs a hand through his hair. “He gave me a place at Hogwarts both as a young boy and now— he allowed me to stay even knowing what I’ve done to you, Darcy— I wanted to tell  _ you, _ but I couldn’t— I couldn’t admit to you that I’d been too much of a coward to go to Dumbledore… I couldn’t lose your trust, either, and your trust, after everything that has happened—” He stops abruptly, glancing around the room, his cheeks pink. Lupin lowers his voice very slightly. “So Snape’s been right about me all along.”

“Snape?” Sirius sneers, looking at Lupin again, looking nothing like the handsome man in Darcy’s photo album. “What does Snape have to do with anything?”

“He’s been telling Dumbledore all year I’m not to be trusted,” Lupin answers, his voice hoarse. “But he has his reasons…”

Darcy licks her lips, her mouth suddenly very dry. Speaking directly to Lupin, she asks, “How did my father save Snape’s life?”

Lupin nods slowly at her, smiling weakly. “I did tell you that it was a story for another time, didn’t I?” he asks, speaking mostly to himself. He looks over his shoulder, giving Sirius a sad look. “Sirius decided to play a trick on Snape. A trick that involved me—”

“Serves him right!” Sirius snarls.

Darcy jumps at the sound of Sirius’s voice, grabbing onto Lupin’s sleeve. Lupin looks down at Darcy, at her fingers curling around his forearm. He doesn’t move to shake her off, which to Darcy is a good sign. “My friends were not the only ones to notice my absence every month…” Lupin begins again, giving Darcy a small, reassuring smile as her fingers tighten around him. “Severus saw me crossing the grounds with Madam Pomfrey, heading towards the Whomping Willow, and Sirius told him how to get inside it so he could follow me… Severus listened, he prodded the knot and slipped down into the tunnel, but he never made it to this house— James heard what Sirius had done and went after Severus, saving him just in time— but Severus had seen me at the end of the tunnel, had seen what I am, and Dumbledore forbid him to tell anyone.”

Harry touches his chin as if deep in thought. “That’s what Snape doesn’t like you?” he wonders, and Lupin looks at Harry, nodding. “He thought you were in on the joke?”

“That’s right.”

Darcy’s heart sinks and she clings onto Lupin’s arm even tighter at the sound of Snape’s cold, sneering voice, her knuckles white. From where the footstep had come only a few minutes ago, Snape pulls the Invisibility Cloak off of him, dropping it to the floor. His wand, pointed at Lupin, is quite steady, ready for an attack. 

“Severus—” Lupin starts, but Snape interrupts him. Very slowly, Lupin grabs the back of Darcy’s shirt, pulling her behind him. 

“I’ve told the Headmaster that you’ve been helping Black into the castle…” Snape says silkily.

Darcy looks down into her free hand, where her wand and Lupin’s are still being held. She looks up at Lupin, but his eyes flick to her just for a second before fixing on Snape again. Darcy releases his arm, gripping Lupin’s wand and preparing to slide it into his back pocket while Snape is distracted, but —

“Get away from him, Darcy,” Snape commands, and Darcy freezes, Lupin’s wand inches away from his back pocket. “ _ Now _ .”

Lupin nods at her, pushing her gently towards Harry. Harry catches Darcy, wrapping an arm around her. Darcy reaches out for Hermione, and Hermione takes her hand, allowing herself to be pulled to Darcy and Harry. Then, Darcy looks at Ron apologetically, knowing his leg needs immediate attention, but there isn’t anything she can do — she could try a spell, but there’s no guarantee Ron’s leg would benefit from it. And if it were to go horribly wrong… Darcy’s jaw begins to throb furiously again, and she looks at Sirius, his face twisted with rage at the sight of Snape. 

“You haven’t heard everything— if you’ll only let me explain—” Lupin says quickly, holding up his hands in surrender to Snape. 

“I’ve heard enough,” Snape hisses, and Darcy shakes her head. She and Harry look sideways at each other. “Two more for Azkaban tonight—”

Darcy inhales deeply, gathering what courage remains of her, and then she shouts, “Professor Snape,  _ please _ —” 

“ _ No _ , Darcy,” Lupin snaps, looking at her. “Be quiet—” 

But Lupin doesn’t get to finish his thought. Before he can say anymore, a loud BANG issues from Snape’s wand and thin cords burst from the end of his wand. Hermione shrieks and Darcy holds her tighter, fingernails digging into her skin. The cords wrap themselves around Lupin, wrapping around his mouth and gagging him, wrapping around his wrists and ankles, and Lupin tries to move but overbalances and with a crash, he falls to the ground with a grunt. Sirius charges Snape, but Snape moves quickly and points his wand at Sirius’s face. Darcy breaks away from Harry and Hermione as soon as Lupin collides with the floor and she kneels beside him, tugging at the cords around his body. 

“ _ Stop! _ ” Darcy cries, looking up at Snape. “Stop it! You don’t know what you’re doing!” She fumbles with the two wands in her hands, dropping Lupin’s at her feet and pointing her own at the cords around Lupin. 

“Get  _ away _ from him, Darcy!” Snape yells again, his wand still fixed on Sirius. “You are in enough trouble as it is—” He hesitates, looking from Darcy to Lupin and back again, his nose scrunching. “I’d have thought this would please you— the werewolf who scarred you, bound and gagged and ready for the demen—”

“No,” Darcy tells him, tears in her eyes at the very thought. “No— let him go!”

Lupin tries to speak to her, but with the cords covering his mouth, all she hears is muffled grunting, completely incoherent. He throws his head in the direction of Harry and Hermione, and Darcy gives him one last, lingering look before scooping Lupin’s wand up again and backing away from him towards her brother again. Her entire body shaking and in a good amount of pain, Darcy allows Harry to wrap an arm around her again protectively. 

“As long as this boy brings his rat up to the castle,” Sirius breathes very heavily, throwing a finger over her shoulder to point at Ron. “I’ll come quietly…”

“Up to the castle?” Snape asks, his mouth twisting in a malicious smile. “No, I don’t think so. As soon as we make it out of the tree, all I’ll have to do is call the dementors… Come, everyone…” And with a snap of his fingers, the cords around Lupin lengthen, flying to Snape’s hands. 

Clenching both wands very tightly in her hand, Darcy looks at Harry, hoping that he’s thinking the same thing she is — hoping that he will not allow Snape to drag Lupin to the dementors — hoping that he will allow Lupin and Sirius to finish their story, their explanation. But it’s hard to think with Scabbers squeaking loudly from Ron’s hands, and she looks at the rat for a long time, eyes passing over Sirius for the briefest moment and over Lupin, staring helplessly at her. 

And as Harry’s hand closes around Darcy’s free one, she knows all is not lost. As Harry drags her away from Hermione and to the door, blocking Snape from leaving the room, a recklessness seizes her, and with Harry at her side, she feels truly brave for the first time that night. But Snape doesn’t seem to find their display of courage amusing, and he scowls down at them.

“Get out of the way,” he tells them both in a very cold and dangerous voice. Snape’s black eyes fix upon Darcy’s face. “Need I remind you that last time you found yourself in this building with Lupin, he nearly killed you—”

“You don’t need to remind me,  _ sir _ ,” she retorts, releasing Harry’s hand and wiping the sweat from her palm onto her skirt. “But I’ve been alone with him plenty of times this year—” Snape’s eyebrows raise, but Darcy plunges on, feeling a slight blush creep up her neck. “And he has only ever been kind to me— gentle, and compassionate…” Darcy’s voice trails away as she looks again at Lupin, his face softening despite being bound. She thinks of all the time they’ve spent together, thinks of how Lupin had never touched her, had never kissed her, had never loved her without approval from her; thinks of how Lupin had never grabbed her too roughly, how he had never seemed inclined in the slightest to harm her. “I know he would never hurt me… not if he could help it…”

There’s silence for a moment, and then Snape reaches out to grab Darcy’s shoulder. “Get out of the way!” He shakes her roughly, and Lupin continues his muffled shouting, his face turning red. Sirius growls at Snape, but with a wand pointing at his face, doesn’t move to help. “Twice now, I’ve saved your life at the hands of this werewolf, and you still insist on placing your trust in a creature that has been helping Black into the castle all this time to kill you and your arrogant brother!”

Harry, however, intervenes. “ _ Don’t touch her _ !” Harry yells, grabbing Darcy to steady her. 

The shaking has made Darcy dizzy again, and she sways on her feet for a moment when Snape pulls his hand away from her. Snape seems to be completely unreasonable now, utterly insane, and the feel of the two wands in Darcy’s hands bring her back to reality as Snape shouts in her face. She and Harry share another quick glance, and she knows this time, beyond a doubt, that Harry is thinking the same thing she is. Before Snape can stop them, Darcy raises her right hand, pointing her’s and Lupin’s wand at Snape, and Harry raises his own, as well.

“ _ Expelliarmus _ !”

Darcy had expected the spell to be powerful, as it has come from three separate wands, but it’s much more powerful that she thought. Snape is lifted off his feet and he soars across the room, hitting the wall and sliding to the ground, his face bloody, unmoving. Her heart stopping momentarily, Darcy looks around the room and notices that everyone seems to have had the same idea as they did, for Hermione and Ron both have their wands still raised, looks of fright on their faces. 

As Hermione expresses quiet doubts about what they’ve just done, Darcy notices Lupin still struggling on the floor and both she and Sirius rush over to his side. Darcy beats him there, and Sirius stands behind her, watching, as she undoes the ropes around Lupin with shaking hands. As soon as she unties the ropes that bind his wrists, Lupin pulls frantically at the cords that gag him, and Darcy finishes with the ones around his ankles. She offers him a hand and he takes it, getting to his feet. Darcy brushes the front of him off automatically, and very slowly, holds Lupin’s wand up for him to take. 

“Thank you, Darcy,” Lupin whispers, taking his wand and reaching out to touch her shoulder, but glancing at Sirius and pulling away, thinking better of it. “I think it’s time you all have had some proof.” He turns to Ron, holding out his hand expectantly. “Ron, give me Peter— now.”

But Ron, despite having stopped Snape from capturing both Lupin and Sirius, still seems hesitant. He looks down at Scabbers, scratching and biting at his hand and fingers trying to get away. “But— that’s— I mean—” Ron shakes his head, and Darcy, not really caring what happens to Scabbers, wishes he’d just offer his rat up to Lupin. “How would Sirius even know if Scabbers is Peter? He’s been in Azkaban this whole time—”

Lupin seems as if he hasn’t thought of this yet. He turns to Sirius, looking curious. “That’s fair, Sirius,” he says. “How did you know where Peter was hiding?”

Sirius doesn’t answer, but reaches inside his robes and procures a newspaper, flattening it and showing everyone the front page. Darcy had seen this edition once over the summer, when Ron and his family had gone to Egypt on holiday. On the front page, in black-and-white, the Weasleys are shuffling restlessly with wide smiles on their faces, and on Ron’s shoulder is Scabbers. Darcy narrows her eyes at the paper, looking up in Sirius’s face slowly, remembering something that she’d heard in the Three Broomsticks months ago.

_...asked if he could have my newspaper, and I gave it to him… _

“He’s missing a toe…” Lupin says, examining the paper closely. He turns to Ron and Scabbers again. “Haven’t you ever heard, Ron? The biggest bit of Pettigrew they could find was his—”

“—finger,” Sirius finishes for Lupin. Darcy looks at Scabbers quickly, and sure enough — she’s never noticed before — Scabbers has a single toe missing. Darcy’s heart pumps harder and harder, her brain spinning with all of this information, with all that’s happened since they set foot in the Shrieking Shack. “I cornered him, but Peter made sure the street heard that  _ I _ had been the one to betray James and Lily— he blew the whole street apart, killed all those Muggles, cut off his finger, and sped away… to live with the rest of the rats in the sewers…”

“No, no, no—” Ron replies, shaking his head again frantically. His face is starting to look green again. Darcy feels sick, and she clutches her stomach, the room beginning to spin again.  _ It can’t be… _ “Scabbers probably got into a fight— he’s been in my family for—”

“Twelve years?” Lupin asks gently. “An awfully long life span for a rat…”

“We’ve been taking good care of him!”

“Not looking too good at the moment, though, is he?” Lupin says again, and Darcy frowns, staring at Scabbers. “Probably hasn’t been looking well since he had heard Sirius was on the loose again…”

“No, he’s scared of that mad cat!” Ron answers. “Crookshanks has been trying to eat him all year!”

Yet when Darcy looks at Harry again, she knows that they’re thinking the same thing. Scabbers had been looking terrible the moment she laid eyes on him in Diagon Alley, the first day the Weasleys had turned up. And as the rat continues to thrash in Ron’s grip, Darcy feels a warm hand grip her shoulder, and her chest heaves. She looks up at Lupin, who is already staring down at her, looking concerned. “Darcy, are you all right?” he whispers.

Darcy opens her mouth to speak, but upon hearing Sirius’s voice, she closes it again, trying to focus on Lupin’s grip — trying not to faint, trying to understand what’s going on — trying to figure out what to believe. “This cat isn’t mad, nor was he trying to eat your rat,” Sirius says, stroking Crookshanks. The cat nuzzles against his long fingers, purring all the while. “Crookshanks saw Peter for what he was, and all year has been trying to  _ collect _ him for me. He tried to bring Peter to me, but couldn’t— so he brought me a list of the Gryffindor Tower passwords from a boy’s bedside table…”

Avoiding Sirius’s eyes, Darcy grabs onto Lupin’s arm again, looking up into his face. “Professor Lupin?” she breathes, and he looks at her at once.

“Yes, Darcy?”

“I— I don’t understand—” she rasps, running her free hand through her hair, feeling cold sweat on her forehead. “Sirius is here to kill Peter Pettigrew— he’s here to—”

“Yes,” Sirius answers, but Darcy forces herself not to look at him. “I am here to kill Peter.”

“Then I should have let Snape take you!” Harry yells.

“No, Harry—” Lupin looks from Harry to Darcy. “All this time, we’ve thought that Sirius betrayed your parents, but it was really  _ Peter _ —”

And then something else comes back to Darcy, something else she remembers Professor McGonagall saying: “ _ Dumbledore offered to be their Secret Keeper, but they trusted Black with their lives and wouldn’t change their minds. _ ” She tugs on Lupin’s sleeve again, her voice seemingly non-existent, and she hopes that Lupin is prepared to catch her, for she’s so close to fainting now… “He was their Secret Keeper,” she rasps. “ _ You _ said so yourself— you said you  _ knew _ Sirius was our parents’ Secret Keeper—”

“Darcy,” Sirius croaks. Darcy flinches, wrapping her hand around Lupin’s bicep, standing very close to him as Sirius looks at her, speaking directly to her. His eyes are shining, and Darcy feels tears well up in her eyes again, as well. “I as good as killed them… I persuaded your parents to change their Secret Keeper from me to Peter at the last minute… I remember the night they died, I had gone to check on Peter, but he was—  _ gone _ , with no sign of a struggle— so I went to James and Lily’s house, and I saw— the house was destroyed, and their bodies— and I heard crying—”

Overwhelmed with emotion, Darcy starts to cry. Lupin glances at her again, lowering his hand from her shoulder, placing a hand on the small of her back just for a second before letting his hand fall to his side. “It was me— I was crying,” Darcy whispers, her voice cracking as everyone watches her speak. “You came to me— I was trapped under the debris, it was crushing my legs. And when you picked me up, you held me to your chest— I didn’t want to leave you.”

“How do you know that?” Sirius asks quickly, tilting his head. “How do you remember that?”

Darcy shrugs, smiling weakly, Sirius’s face blurred by her tears. “I’ve been dreaming about that night ever since I saw your face on the television last summer.”

Sirius seems breathless. “You were so young— so afraid— I wanted to take you with me— you and Harry…”

“I loved you,” she cries, wiping her tear stained cheek on Lupin’s sleeve, sniffling. Darcy remembers all the night’s she’s dreamed of him — of all the nights and mornings she had woken feeling loved and wanted. She remembers all the time she’d spent looking at the photograph of Sirius holding her, admiring his handsome face. “I wanted to go with you— I loved you, Sirius—”

“Darcy,” Sirius says very quietly, so everyone has to lean into him to hear what he’s saying. “Giving you to Hagrid is one of my greatest regrets.” And in less than five seconds, both Darcy and Sirius have made moves to reach each other. Darcy releases Lupin’s arm and takes three long strides across the room, and Sirius meets her in the middle. Sobbing, Darcy falls into Sirius’s chest, letting him wrap his arms around her. He strokes her hair, resting his cheek on her forehead, holding onto her as if she’s the only real thing in the room. “You believe me, don’t you? I would never do anything to hurt you…”

“Wh— Darcy?” Harry’s voice comes from behind her, but Darcy doesn’t answer. 

For almost a year, Darcy’s been dreaming of nuzzling into Sirius’s chest, feeling comforted and loved, and now it’s  _ real _ . She pulls away from Sirius and looks up into his face, and for a moment, with his expression softer than it had been, she can recognize him underneath the waxy skin, can see the warmth in his eyes. Sirius wipes at Darcy’s cheeks, brushing her tears away. He cradles her face in his hands, touching her as if she’s made of china, as if by touching her too roughly she may break into a thousand pieces. He smiles at her, and to the amazement of everyone else in the room, Darcy smiles back. She allows him to kiss her forehead — a familiar, loving kiss. She allows him to smooth her hair back, and Sirius — despite his dirty appearance — is suddenly the most beautiful thing in the world to her. She wishes, briefly, that she had a reason to cast a Patronus now, because surely this moment would be able to produce the most powerful Patronus she’s ever seen… being reunited with Sirius again, after all these years...

“Ron,” Darcy says finally, with her arms still wrapped around Sirius’s middle. She turns her head to look at Ron, resting her cheek against Sirius’s very bony shoulder. “Give Scabbers to Professor Lupin.  _ Now _ .”

Ron gives Darcy a very pained expression, but holds out Scabbers reluctantly towards Lupin. Darcy stands up straighter, allowing Sirius to walk over to Lupin, who holds Scabbers by the tail. Grabbing Snape’s wand, Sirius holds it up at Scabbers, and Darcy waits for what seems like an eternity before anything happens. Everyone in the room seems to be holding its breath.

“Together?” Sirius murmurs, and Darcy takes a few steps backwards, placing herself at Harry’s side once more. 

“Yes,” Lupin answers raggedly. “One— two—  _ three _ !”

There’s a blinding flash of light — Darcy pulls Harry to her, shielding her eyes with her hand. Peering through her fingers, Darcy sees Scabbers floating in midair, and both Sirius and Lupin take a step backwards. Scabbers wriggles in the air, thrashing violently, and then he falls to the ground with a loud thump. Darcy’s heart sinks at the idea that Scabbers is really nothing more than a rat, the idea that Lupin and Sirius had been mistaken, and then —

Darcy looks down at the floor, disgusted, as Scabbers begins to transform quickly. Instead of small paws, there are arms growing from the rat’s body, arms with stubby fingers — one of which is missing. And then a head, and short legs, and instead of looking at Scabbers, Darcy is looking at a man — ugly and balding and dirty and cringing, wringing his hands together nervously, eyes darting from one person to the other, his gaze occasionally lingering on Sirius. Darcy tries to remember the photographs Lupin had shown her — the ones where Peter Pettigrew had been present — but she can’t quite remember his face. She wonders if he’s always looked like a rat, or if living as one for twelve years had adjusted his appearance. 

“Sirius—” Pettigrew squeak. “Remus— my old friends!” Darcy sees him look towards the door, but after the discovery of the truth, she feels more confident than ever, and she races to block the doorway. Pettigrew jumps at the sight of Darcy staring at him, turning back to Lupin dramatically. “Remus— you don’t— you don’t believe him, do you? He tried to kill me! And he’s come to try again! You’ve got to help me, Remus…”

“No one is going to kill you until we sort a few things out,” Lupin answers levelly, his wand at his side.

“I knew he’d be back to finish me off—” Pettigrew continues, and Darcy scrunches her nose at him, disgusting by his very appearance. “Twelve years I’ve waited for this—”

Lupin cocks an eyebrow. “You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban?”

Pettigrew opens and closes his mouth quickly, struggling to find an answer. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named must have taught him some tricks—”

Lupin, Sirius, and Pettigrew continue to bicker back and forth — Peter Pettigrew mumbles and looks up at them, watery-eyed, continually glancing towards the door. But Darcy barely hears them — Darcy’s entire world has just been turned upside down, and a rage consumes her at the sight of this ugly, balding, crying man — this ugly, balding, crying man who had spent a little less than half his life as a rat, watching her and Harry, listening to their conversations, collecting information — this ugly, balding, crying man is the reason Voldemort had been able to get to her parents, is the reason they’re dead. Darcy stares at him very hard, trying to slow her breathing, trying to calm herself down and bring herself out of her rage. 

Had it not been for Peter Pettigrew, Darcy might still have a family — instead of returning to Privet Drive this summer, she could have been returning to her parents, her beautiful mother and her handsome father. Had it not been for Peter Pettigrew, and had her parents still been killed, she could have lived out her life with Sirius. And to see him now — to see Peter Pettigrew cower in fear upon meeting Lupin and Sirius for the first time in twelve years, to see him crying like a child upon the floor, to know that  _ this _ man is the reason for everything that’s happened to her… 

Darcy looks away from Pettigrew, unable to take in his appearance any longer. Everyone seems to be focused on the scene with the three men, and Darcy stumbles slightly, leaning against the door, putting her hand to her face. She rubs her temples, the ache in her jaw suddenly hitting her full force again. Fighting the urge to vomit, to run away, Darcy looks up, hoping someone will catch her eye, hoping someone will notice that she’s not okay — and her heart swells with love when Lupin glances at her. He does a double-take before moving swiftly to her side. She can hear Sirius talking in the background as Lupin reaches her —

“—as they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog…”

Darcy reaches for Lupin’s hand, squeezing it and looking up at him with tears in her eyes. He lets go of her, placing a hand on her back, pulling him slightly to her.

“—except when I came to watch you play Quidditch, Harry…”

Lupin urges her forward a few steps, and Harry looks over at the sound of their footsteps. 

“—and when I entered Gryffindor Tower,” Sirius continues, looking at Darcy. Lupin drops his hand from Darcy’s back. “I had gone into your dormitory, Darcy, and I shouldn’t have, but— I didn’t want to leave without first seeing you—”

And Darcy remembers the night that Ron had woken her, screaming bloody murder. She remembers something coming into her dormitory, something she had thought was Crookshanks. But as the something brushed against her hand, it had seemed too big — too hairy — and there hadn’t been purring… and Hermione had told Darcy Crookshanks had been in her room all the time… 

“Believe me,” Sirius says, looking from Harry to Darcy and back again. “Believe me— I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them.”

Darcy nods quickly, looking to Harry for his answer. Harry looks at Darcy for a long time, his jaw clenched. And then, slowly, Harry nods his head and Darcy smiles at him. At this small motion, Pettigrew falls to the floor, sobbing, and Lupin gives Darcy another gentle push into Harry’s arms, moving back to stand with Sirius.

“Are you okay?” Harry whispers to her, but Darcy isn’t sure how to answer. 

“Yes,” she breathes, holding tight to Harry.

“Did you know? Any of this?” he whispers again in her ear, noticing Pettigrew watching them while crying at Lupin and Sirius’s feet. 

“No,” she answers, her voice barely there. “Nothing.”

They hold each other tighter, and Darcy screams as Pettigrew crawls towards her and Harry with speed she would never have believed possible from such a heavy man. “Darcy— Darcy— so beautiful, so sweet— I remember you as a little girl…” He gropes at her skirt and Darcy dances away from him, resisting the urge to kick him. Pettigrew follows her like the rat he is, and Darcy trips over her own feet, landing in someone’s arms. “Just like your mother, Darcy— a young woman now, lovely… forgiving…”

“Get away from her!” Lupin shouts, pulling Darcy roughly behind him. Darcy clings to his arm again, staring down at Pettigrew with disgust. “Don’t you dare touch her— stay behind me, Darcy—” Lupin’s voice is soft and dangerous.

“Harry—” Pettigrew starts again, making his way to Harry. “James wouldn’t have wanted me killed— James would have shown me mercy—”

At this, Sirius growls. “Don’t you  _ dare _ talk about James in front of them!” He holds up Snape’s wand in his hand, inches away from Pettigrew. “You sold James and Lily to Voldemort— do you deny it?”

Pettigrew starts to cry again, blubbering like a baby, and Darcy feels a twinge of pity for him — but only for a moment, until he opens his mouth to speak again. “What could I have done? He would have killed me!”

“Then you should have  _ died _ !” Sirius screams, his voice becoming hoarse. “Died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you!”

Lupin takes a step forward and Darcy releases him. He and Sirius stand shoulder to shoulder, wanda pointed at Pettigrew. Darcy moves around Lupin to watch, her heart speeding up again. “You should have realized,” Lupin says quietly. “If Voldemort didn’t kill you, we would. Goodbye, Peter.” Lupin swallows. “Look away, Darcy.”

But she doesn’t. Darcy will not look away. She will watch the men she loves kill the man who took everything away from her — she does not want to forget this moment of triumph, and Darcy clenches her already painful jaw, curling her hands into fists, her wand clenched tight. 

“ _ No _ !” Darcy jumps, looking to Harry, who had spoken. Harry throws himself in front of Pettigrew, panting. Darcy, Lupin, and Sirius stare at Harry, bewildered. “You can’t kill him— you can’t—”

“Harry,” Darcy breathes, trying to block out everyone in the room. She gives Harry a withering stare, trying to make him see reason. But she knows had Harry will never understand. Harry will never understand the responsibility she had taken on at such a young age because of Pettigrew. Harry will never understand the sense of loss she’s felt because of him — the loss of her innocence, of her childhood, of not only her parents, but Sirius, too. “Look at what he’s done— he’s the reason our parents are dead— he’s the reason Sirius and I—” She pauses, looking to Lupin, hoping he’ll back her up, but he stays silent, eyes fixed upon Pettigrew. “He  _ deserves _ this.”

But Harry is looking at Darcy as if he’s never seen her before, shaking his head. “That’s not you, Darcy— you’re not a killer,” he rasps. “If they kill him, they’re no better than him. He can go to Azkaban— let the dementors have him.”

Darcy seems to deflate. All the rage she had been feeling seems to escape her at Harry’s words. Lupin looks up at Darcy, seeming exhausted, his hair falling into his eyes. “Is that all right with you, Darcy?” he asks softly. “We’ll bring him to the castle— but if he transforms, we’ll kill him. Agreed?”

Hesitating slightly, Darcy nods. Quickly, Lupin and Sirius begin to clean up after themselves — Lupin binds Peter Pettigrew the same way Snape had done to him, straps Ron’s leg to a splint, and hurries to Snape, still unconscious on the ground. Sirius keeps an eye on Pettigrew, glancing almost sheepishly at Harry and Darcy every so often. At last, when Snape is dangling as if being controlled by a puppeteer, and Ron and Lupin have both taken up the job of being chained to Pettigrew by heavy manacles, Crookshanks, Harry, and Hermione lead the way out of the Shrieking Shack. Ron, Lupin, and Pettigrew follow. After they walk out the door, Sirius puts a hand on Darcy’s shoulder and guides her behind the floating form of Snape, Sirius controlling him with Snape’s wand. 

The trek through the tunnel seems to last forever. Lupin glances over his shoulder at her every few moments, but when he catches Sirius’s eye, he looks away. Harry, as well, looks back at Darcy, but she finds it hard to look back at him. She wraps her arms around herself as Sirius’s arm bumps her’s. 

“You’re, er— very grown up now,” Sirius mutters, not bothering to move Snape as they come up on a low rock, and Snape’s head cracks off of it. “You and Harry. The last time I saw you, you were five.”

“I’ve done a lot of growing up in the past twelve years,” she admits shyly, rubbing at the back of her neck and then touching her jaw gingerly. 

“Remus has been taking care of you for me, then?” he asks with a sideways glance at her. 

“Well,” she answers, blushing fiercely. She’s thankful for the darkness of the tunnel. “He’s only started teaching this year, but… yes, he’s been taking care of me.”

“Good. Good.” Sirius clears his throat. “You— you seem— close.”

“He’s been very good to me this year.” Darcy looks at him, her heart jumping in her throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes!” Sirius says, then he realizes how eager he sounds and tries again. “I mean— yes. What is it?”

“It might sound— I mean— these dreams that I’ve been having,” she starts, blushing again. “Whenever you come to pull me from the rubble, I— I mean— we— we loved each other, didn’t we?”

Sirius’s hard face suddenly softens. “Yes,” he says sadly. “We did. I thought about you often in Azkaban— the thought of seeing you again, I— I had hoped it would be under different circumstances. I don’t know if you know this, but I am your… well, your parents named me your godfather.”

“I know.”

Harry and Hermione climb through the base of the Whomping Willow, following Crookshanks’s fluffy, orange tail. They help pull Ron, Lupin, and Pettigrew up awkwardly, trying not to damage Ron’s leg even further. Sirius raises Snape’s wand and Snape floats up through the hole, and then a hand stretches down through the hole, fingers searching for a hand to hold. Darcy glances at Sirius before taking Lupin’s hand and she clambers up with ease. Sirius follows her, and Darcy takes a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air.

Darcy falls into Harry and Hermione’s outstretched arms, and the three of them hug for a moment before pulling away. She looks up at the castle, looking inviting and welcoming and she imagines curling up on one of the beds in the hospital wing, sleeping deeply… 

“Are you guys all right?” she asks, her throat painful from all the talking, screaming, and crying she’s just done. Darcy’s fingers brush over the cuts on Hermione’s shoulder and the few scratches on Harry’s face. “We need to get up to the castle— we all need the hospital wing.”

But Hermione’s face is suddenly white with terror. “Darcy—”

Darcy turns around quickly, and as she does so, knows what Hermione is frightened of. She looks up into the dark and cloudy sky, watching a nearby cloud shift to reveal the moon — a beautiful, bright, full moon — and Darcy starts to feel nauseous again. Instinctively, Darcy pushes Harry and Hermione behind her, trying to force the memories out of her mind — her left shoulder twinges painfully and she puts a hand over the scars there. She looks at Lupin, thinking very fast as he begins to shake and tremble all over, and soon the night air is filled with the shrieking and moaning she’d heard as she had entered the Shrieking Shack so long ago.

“Run!” Sirius calls to them, but Darcy looks at Ron, who doesn’t seem to be able to handle many more surprises. “Run! I’ll handle it!”

Darcy tries not to look at Lupin, but out of the corner of her eye, she can see it all — the lengthening of his limbs, his snout growing from his face and hair sprouting on every inch of skin visible; Lupin’s clothes start to rip and soon, Darcy is standing feet from a fully grown werewolf. Breathing very heavily, Darcy points her wand at the manacle around Lupin’s wrist and ankle, freeing him from Pettigrew and Ron. Darcy sprints to Ron, Harry and Hermione behind her, but something knocks her down, knocking the wind out of her —

She looks up, dazed, at the big, black dog she knows now is Sirius. He bounds off her at once, opening his jaws wide and clamping down around Lupin’s neck, dragging the werewolf away from the crowd of people still huddled on the lawn. Hands still held up in the air, ready to help Ron, Darcy stares at the werewolf and the dog, snarling and snapping at each other, colliding under the light of the full moon. 

Several things happen very quickly then. Hermione screams, making Darcy tense with fear; Pettigrew moves quickly towards Lupin’s dropped wand on the grass; Darcy, reaching for her wand, doesn’t reach it in time, as Ron, unsteady on his leg, falls into Darcy, dead weight against her body. Barely able to support Ron, Darcy fumbles with her wand, but then there’s a loud  _ BANG _ and Darcy feels tingling in her chest. Darcy’s hand releases Ron’s shirt before she closes her eyes, collapsing to the ground, and Ron falls with her. 


	59. Chapter 59

Darcy’s head hurts.

She’d been having the strangest dream — Lupin was in it, and Sirius Black, the man who had been responsible for her parents’ death had snatched at her skirt and begged for mercy, she had knocked Snape out, something had knocked  _ her _ out. 

_ That’s ridiculous, _ Darcy tells herself, the pounding in her head lessening as she wakes.  _ Sirius Black is the reason my parents are dead. Peter Pettigrew is dead. _

But more images are starting to come back to her, more memories, more feelings. A broken nose and a punch to the jaw (which begins to ache again); Lupin wiping dried blood off her face; Snape binding Lupin with ropes, ready to give him to the dementors for no other reason than an immature grudge; Sirius’s arms around her, while she closed her eyes, listening to the beating of his heart; Scabbers suspended in midair, turning into a man; the full moon coming out from behind some clouds. With her eyes still closed, Darcy touches her forehead, wincing slightly. She still feels winded, her heart skipping a beat every so often, her chest on fire as if she’s just swallowed a particularly large drink of firewhiskey. But that  _ can’t  _ have been real — it  _ had _ to have just been a dream, and when she opens her eyes, she’ll be in her dormitory, and Emily will be sleeping in the bed beside her, without a care in the world. 

Darcy doesn’t open her eyes. She isn’t sure if she’s more afraid of waking in the hospital wing knowing it was all real, or waking in her dormitory knowing it was all a dream. But she can’t be in her dormitory, because there are voices — male voices — one of them a voice she’s very familiar with, having heard it almost everyday for the past seven years. Darcy’s eyes flutter open, and she finds herself staring up at the high window, the full moon’s light filtering into the hospital wing, bathing her lower half in a white glow. She looks over to the bed next to her, where Harry is already awake, listening to the voices that are coming from the corridor outside, drifting through the open doors. 

Forcing herself in a half-sitting position, Darcy looks around the dark hospital wing. Hermione is awake on Harry’s other side, looking horrified. Across from Darcy’s bed, she can see the red of Ron’s hair, but he doesn’t move, nor are there any signs of him being awake. Madam Pomfrey is bustling towards Darcy from her office, a large slab of chocolate in her hand, and a large, dark vial in her other hand. Darcy clutches her chest, the burning sensation causing her to moan softly. This catches Madam Pomfrey’s attention, but Darcy ignores her. As she throws off her blankets, Darcy watches Harry do the same thing, and she slips off the bed, her legs very shaky underneath her. Harry grabs her arm as her knees buckle, steadying her.

“You two are going to kill me one day, do you know that?”

Madam Pomfrey grips Darcy’s arm firmly, pushing her back down into bed. She cries out, her chest burning, watching the matron force Harry back into bed, as well. But Darcy pushes away the potion Madam Pomfrey tries to force down her throat, trying to get out of bed, trying to talk to Harry.

“What happened? How did we get here?” she asks Harry, turning her head to the side as Madam Pomfrey breaks off a piece of chocolate and puts it to Darcy’s lips. “Last thing I remember… Professor Lupin…”

“He got away, Darcy,” Harry replies quickly, trying to look at Darcy, peering around Madam Pomfrey’s back. “Pettigrew took Lupin’s wand— Ron got the brunt of his spell— you both collapsed and Pettigrew transformed and got away and Hermione and I went after Sirius— Darcy, there were hundreds of dementors and— I saw— something made them go away— a Patronus, but I don’t know who—”

“What do you mean  _ he got away? _ ” Darcy hisses, dodging another attempt of Madam Pomfrey’s to shove potion down her throat. “Madam Pomfrey,  _ please _ stop— Harry, where’s Sirius?” Madam Pomfrey rubs chocolate to Darcy’s lips, and Darcy growls at her, animal-like.

“Sirius Black?” Madam Pomfrey asks, looking from Darcy to Harry, perplexed at their conversation. She lowers the block of chocolate from Darcy’s mouth. “You don’t need to worry about him anymore, Potter. He’s upstairs— they dementors are going to perform the kiss at any moment…”

Harry jumps to his feet again. “ _ What _ ?” 

Behind him, Darcy sees Hermione get to her feet, as well. But Darcy can’t move all of a sudden, and her chest tightens, unable to catch her breath. A searing pain goes through her and Darcy moans again, wondering briefly if Ron’s chest will tingle just as badly when he wakes up. “He’s innocent,” she croaks breathlessly, touching Madam Pomfrey’s shoulder with her free hand. Madam Pomfrey only looks back at her with wide eyes. “Sirius is innocent, please—” But the room around her begins to swim at the thought of losing Sirius again — so shortly after they’d been reunited… 

Darcy sees Madam Pomfrey look towards the doors of the hospital wing and Darcy turns around, her neck cracking. Cornelius Fudge walks in rather quickly, Snape on his heels. Fudge looks absolutely bewildered at the sight of Darcy fighting with Madam Pomfrey, but at the sight of the Minister of Magic, Darcy feels that all is not lost — there is still a chance Sirius could be saved from the fate that awaits him. Attempting to stand again, Madam Pomfrey shoves Darcy back into the bed, so Darcy props herself up on an elbow, looking imploringly at the Minister as Harry takes over, speaking very fast as Hermione races to his side. “Minister, Sirius Black is innocent, Peter Pettigrew faked his own death—”

“We saw it all happen,” Hermione adds, sweating slightly, her face white. “Ron’s rat, Scabbers— it was Peter Pettigrew this entire time— he’s an Animagus—”

But Fudge looks as though he’s expected this reaction out of them. There’s a small smile on his face that infuriates Darcy, and she looks to Snape, who looks pleased and amused, and Snape looks right back at her. Hatred boils inside of her at the sight of Snape, and she knows it is too late — she knows Snape has already given his version of events, and nothing any of them say will change anything. Darcy’s eyes flick back to Fudge. She has to  _ try _ — she can’t just lay back, defeated, knowing the dementors will soon steal Sirius’s soul.  “Please, Minister… we were all there— Professor Snape was knocked out when Scabbers turned into Peter— Professor Lupin was there, he can tell you—”

“Like I said, Minister,” Snape interrupts smoothly, holding his hands behind his back. Darcy’s chest heaves, anger surging through her. “I worry about Potter’s mental and emotional state… it’s clear Lupin has been grooming her from the start—”

Darcy struggles to find an answer for a moment, shocked at the absurd statement Snape has just given. If she had been angry a minute ago, it’s nothing to the anger she feels now. “He has not been  _ grooming _ me!” she shouts, her face red. Darcy and Snape exchange glances once more, and Darcy scowls at him before looking at Fudge again. “Please, Minister, come morning, we can all tell you exactly what happened— please, don’t call the dementors until you’ve heard us out—”

“Miss Potter,” Fudge says kindly, but Darcy shakes her head, not wanting to hear anything else come out of his mouth. Snape is still sneering at her, looking triumphant. “I would not ask you to recount the terrible events of this evening once more when Professor Snape has already given me his testimony. I know that you have had a difficult night, so why don’t you just lie back and—”

Darcy buries her face in her hands, letting out a muffled, frustrated scream. Madam Pomfrey jumps, backing away from her. Harry and Hermione watch her; Hermione opens her mouth to speak, to shush Darcy, but Harry shakes his head. Darcy’s heart pounds in her ears, the tightness in her chest nothing to the aching in her heart at the thought of Sirius not remembering her face, not remembering who she is, what they’d shared, even if she was just a little girl — “He’s  _ lying! _ ”

There’s a ringing silence, and Snape’s amused face turns to one of rage and the color drains from his face. He moves swiftly to the foot of Darcy bed, curling his hands into fists and digging them into the mattress on either side of Darcy’s legs. They stare at each other for a moment, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Their chests rise and fall dramatically, but Darcy doesn’t falter. She will not allow Sirius to fall victim to the dementors because of  _ Snape.  _ “You dare?” Snape whispers, his voice a deadly hiss. “You dare call me a liar in front of the Minister of Magic?”

“Because it’s true— you’re  _ lying _ ! You were knocked out! You never got to see—”

“I heard and saw enough, Darcy!” Snape shouts in her face. Darcy clenches her jaw, and she can feel her head throbbing, fit to burst. “I saw the four of you in that room with a murderer and his accomplice, and had I not been so foolishly attacked—”

Darcy raises her voice, speaking over Snape. Sitting up straight in bed, she moves her face closer, eyes not leaving his. “You were prepared to give Professor Lupin to the dementors without a second thought— an innocent man—”

Snape and Darcy move even closer to each other, yet no one intervenes. “Innocent?” Snape snarls. He lowers his voice, so close to Darcy that she can feel his hot breath on her lips. “Do not pretend that he does not deserve it— I don’t know what kind of fantasies he’s planted in your head, but you are a  _ fool _ if you actually believe anything he’s said to—”

Darcy’s voice grows shrill, but Snape does not move away. “I will not turn against Professor Lupin because you can’t get over a trick they played on you in school over ten years ago—”

“That  _ trick _ would have killed me, and they would have laughed about it—”

“But it didn’t kill you because my father saved your life—”

“Your father got  _ cold feet _ ,” Snape retorts, his face paler still. “And in case you’ve forgotten, I saved your—”

“And you’ll hold that over my head for the rest of my life, won’t you?” They move closer still, almost nose to nose, black eyes boring into Darcy’s green ones. Snape is leaning far over the foot of the bed now, his hands making the mattress shake. “Professor Lupin wasn’t even a part of it— he didn’t know, and you still would have had the dementors kiss him—”

“You act like you were there— like you saw what happened! Lupin told you a few stories and now you know  _ everything _ , is that it, Potter?”

“If you had listened to what they were saying, you’d know just as much as I did, but you wanted to bring them to the dementors without even hearing their side of the story!” Darcy can’t contain her anger anymore, and it all pours out of her in a high-pitched shriek. “You are  _ cruel _ —”

“I will  _ not _ be spoken to like this!”

“ _Severus!_ _Darcy!_ ”

Both Darcy and Snape jump, having forgotten the other people standing around them. Darcy breathes raggedly and her palms hurt; she holds them up to her face and finds that her fingernails have cut into her skin. Snape straightens up, brushing the front of his robes and turning on his heel to face the sound of the voice. She flushes deep red at the sight of Dumbledore looking at Snape closely, having not seen or heard Dumbledore even enter the hospital wing. She suddenly wonders how long he’s been standing there, how much he’d heard. Snape looks furious, black eyes still fixed upon Darcy. Dumbledore turns then to face Darcy, but speaking to the room at large. Darcy’s heart is pounding painfully in her chest as Dumbledore says, “I would like to speak to these three alone.” He motions with a hand towards Darcy, Harry, and Hermione. “I’ve been talking to Sirius Black—”

“And I’m sure he’s given you the same cock-and-bull story that they’re spitting out?” Snape asks coldly, a vein throbbing in his temple. “Something about a rat, and Pettigrew being alive—”

Dumbledore nods slowly, seemingly too calm for Darcy’s liking. “That is, indeed, his story.”

This seems to infuriate Snape even more, to the point where Darcy’s never seen him so outraged. “Peter Pettigrew was not in the Shrieking Shack—”

“—yes, he was— he was disguised as Scabbers, which you chose to ignore—” Darcy cuts in, but Snape ignores her.

“—nor was there any sign of him on the grounds—”

“—you were knocked out, of  _ course _ you didn’t see him!”

“Darcy,” Dumbledore suddenly says, silencing her with a single look. “ _ Enough _ .” Darcy shuts her mouth with great difficult, and Snape grins as she flashes him a maddening look. “Poppy, Cornelius, Severus— I would like a word with Mr. and Miss Potter, as well as Miss Granger.”

Madam Pomfrey, grumbling under her breath, shoves a piece of chocolate into Darcy’s mouth before taking her leave, and Darcy struggles to chew and swallow it, her jaw still very swollen, very achy, and very tense. Cornelius Fudge says something about the dementors and checks his watch, exiting the room in a hurry, but Darcy barely hears him mumbling on his way out. She looks at Snape again, who hasn’t moved from Dumbledore’s side. Darcy watches him, trying to will him to leave with her eyes, but he doesn’t budge.

“Surely you don’t believe Black?” Snape whispers, his lips stretching thin across his lips. “Sirius Black showed he was capable of murder at sixteen— you haven’t forgotten that he once tried to kill  _ me? _ ”

Darcy thinks that, maybe, had she heard Snape ask that question in a shaky voice months ago, she’d have felt bad for him, but now — now all she can think is that he probably  _ deserved _ it, that there had to have been a reason for Sirius to play such a trick on him. Dumbledore remains calm as ever, and Darcy leans forward, waiting to hear whatever is about to leave Dumbledore’s lips, and the Headmaster’s answer makes her feel slightly victorious. “My memory is as good as it ever was, Severus,” he says quietly.

Snape, sensing defeat, points a finger in Darcy’s direction, lip curling. “And what of her?” he demands, and Darcy rolls her eyes, breathing deeply. “Lupin almost killed her himself—”

“He never tried to  _ murder _ me!” Darcy replies, before she can stop herself. “Like you care what happens to me— as long as my near-death experience can be used to benefit yourself—”

“ _ Enough, _ Darcy,” Dumbledore tells her, his voice raised. She’s never heard Dumbledore yell at her before, never heard Dumbledore raise his voice in anger towards her, but as the echoing of his voice comes to a halt, Darcy leans back against her pillow, knowing there is nothing else to be done. Dumbledore gives her a lingering look before turning back to Severus, his face now stony. “I wish to speak to these three alone, Severus.”

Snape seems to realize that there is nothing more he can say to change Dumbledore’s mind, and he turns on his heel, giving Darcy a last look over his shoulder before leaving the hospital wing, closing the doors behind him. As soon as the door shut, Darcy, Harry, and Hermione all begin to speak at once, and Dumbledore gives them a moment to explain.

“Sirius is innocent, Professor—”

“We saw Pettigrew— he escaped when Professor Lupin turned into a werewolf—”

“Professor Snape is a  _ liar _ — he was knocked out when Professor Lupin and Sirius made Scabbers change—”

“Peter Pettigrew was pretending to be Ron’s pet—”

And then Dumbledore holds up a hand and silence falls over them once more. Harry sits on his bed, watching Dumbledore intently, while Hermione seats herself at the foot of Darcy’s bed, where Snape’s hands had been only a few minutes before. “There will be no more interruptions,” Dumbledore whispers, causing the three of them to lean into him. “With Pettigrew having escaped, there is no proof to support your story. There were witnesses that night who are certain of what they saw, and I gave evidence to the Ministry afterwards against Sirius, as well.”

“Professor, you can’t let the dementors get to Sirius,” Darcy pleads, feeling tears welling up in her eyes, tears borne of heartbreak and frustration. “He’s innocent—”

“Please do not interrupt me, Darcy,” Dumbledore says gently. He reaches out and places a sturdy hand on her left shoulder, and his long fingers line up with the scars on her shoulder. Darcy squirms, shaking his hand off. “I believe you, Darcy, but there is nothing any of us can to say to change the Minister’s mind. With Professor Snape having already given his version of events, it is very, very unlikely that anything the four of you have to say will be given a second thought.”

Darcy stares at him, helpless. She opens her mouth to speak, but for the first time that night, she can’t find words to say. She looks at Harry for support, feeling desperate, and then looks at Hermione, her face in her hands. Why isn’t anyone saying anything? 

“What we need,” says Dumbledore, more quietly still, “is more time.”

Dumbledore’s words mean nothing to Darcy. But Hermione lowers her hands at once, eyes wide. “Oh!” she gasps, the corners of her lips twitching very slightly before the half-smile is wiped from her face.

“Listen to me,” Dumbledore continues, speaking directly to Hermione. “Thirteenth window from the right of the West Tower— you’ll find Sirius in Professor Flitwick’s office. If all goes well, you will be able to save more than one innocent life tonight. Miss Granger, you know the laws— you must not be seen.”

“But— Professor Dumbledore—” Darcy begins.

But Dumbledore ignores her completely, sweeping over to the double doors. “It is five minutes to midnight,” he says cryptically, as Harry and Darcy exchange confused looks. “I’m going to lock you in now. Three turns should do it, Miss Granger.”

Dumbledore shuts the doors again, and Darcy turns slowly to Hermione, waiting for something to happen, some kind of magic she’s never known, but Hermione only reaches inside of her shirt, fumbling for something. Darcy watches carefully as Hermione grabs hold of a long, gold chain, at the end of which looks to be a very minute hourglass. And at once, comprehension washes over Darcy and she laughs in spite of everything because Hermione has just pulled out of her shirt their last chance to save Sirius. “Hermione,” Darcy breathes, her voice hoarse, incredulous as Hermione urges Darcy and Harry to their feet, and wraps the chain around their necks. “Where did you get this? I’ve never seen one before…”

Harry looks from Hermione to Darcy. “What is going on? Three turns for what? What law? Hermione—”

“Never a dull year with you around, Harry,” Darcy laughs again as Hermione turns the hourglass three times, and the hospital wing begins to fade. Within seconds, the moonlight has vanished, replaced with a orange glow, and the walls continue to spin and the floor beneath Darcy’s feet disappears and Darcy feels slightly nauseous, but she isn’t sick from the motion — her stomach churns with  _ excitement.  _ Five minutes ago, there had been no hope — no last ditch effort to save her godfather. But now, as her feet hit solid ground again, Darcy sighs a sigh of relief, looking around wildly.

Instead of the hospital wing walls surrounding her, Darcy, Harry, and Hermione are standing in the empty entrance hall. Hermione unhooks the gold chain from around their necks and grabs both of their hands, pulling them quickly into a nearby broom closet. Darcy’s heart is racing again — she’s surprised she hasn’t had a heart attack tonight — and she’s itching to move, to escape the confinement of the broom closet, to see Sirius again. 

“What just happened?” Harry pants as soon as Hermione closes the door. He holds his hands up in the air, his dark hair sticking up everywhere.

“We’ve gone back into time,” Hermione explains slightly breathlessly. “Three hours back.”

Darcy, her ear to the door, shushes them. “Someone’s coming—” She feels another rush of excitement hearing her own voice coming from the entrance hall on the other side of the door. “I can hear us talking… I just got under the Invisibility Cloak… we’re going to Hagrid’s…”

“Wait,” Harry says, giving a very nervous smile, as if Darcy and Hermione are playing a joke on him. “We’re in here… but— we’re… out there, too?”

Ear still to the door, Darcy listens to the four of them shuffle out of the entrance hall and down the front steps. She stands up straighter as the footsteps die away. “That was definitely us. Hermione, how did you get a Time-Turner?” she whispers. “Surely the Ministry wasn’t just giving them away?”

“It’s for my classes,” Hermione answers sheepishly, shrugging her shoulders as if it’s no big deal. “Professor McGonagall had to write to the Ministry and tell them I’m a model student— that I would never use it for anything other than school. I’ve been using it to be in two classes at once— I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Harry, but McGonagall made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone!”

Darcy checks her watch. “Let’s get a move on,” she mutters, feeling Harry’s disbelieving stare on the back of her neck. “We only have three hours. Why did we come back three hours?”

The three of them are quiet for a moment. Darcy keeps close to the door, listening for signs of movement outside in the entrance hall, thinking hard. Hermione sighs heavily, tapping her foot on the stone ground, and then Harry — of all people — gasps. “We’re going to save Buckbeak!” he hisses.

“What?” Darcy asks, spinning around to face her brother. “Buckbeak—?” But then she and Harry share a single look, and Darcy understands. “‘More than one innocent life will be saved’— of course! That’s how we’re going to get to Flitwick’s window!”

“And then Sirius can escape on Buckbeak—” Harry grins, his excitement showing.

“That’s all very well,” Hermione interrupts. “But how are we going to manage that? It’s almost sundown and there’s going to be a lot of people down there! If only we had the Invisibility Cloak…”

“We have to try,” Harry insists, and he looks to Darcy again. “Do you hear anything?”

“No,” Darcy replies, ear to the door once more. “I think it’s okay. Let’s go.”

The three of them race out of the broom closet, down the front steps of Hogwarts, and Hermione takes them a different way than usual towards Hagrid’s cabin. Darcy can barely run, her legs trembling and head spinning from all that’s happened. They tear through the vegetable patches, where Darcy trips on a root sticking out of the ground, but pushes herself to her feet almost at once, catching up to Harry and Hermione as they approach the greenhouses. Darcy peers inside, hoping that Professor Sprout isn’t in one of them, watching, but they all seem deserted. She pushes forward, long legs carrying her to the front of the group, and they begin to slow down only when they reach the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where Darcy throws herself behind a thick tree trunk, out of sight. She bends over, hands on her knees, completely winded and clutching at a stitch in her side. Her chest burns, and Darcy suddenly regrets pushing away the potion Madam Pomfrey has tried to force feed her, wondering if it would have made her better. Harry brushes back his hair, his forehead glistening with sweat; Hermione pants heavily, fanning herself with her hand.

“We have to get closer to Buckbeak…” Harry breathes, hardly able to speak. 

“Yeah— give me a second, all right?” Darcy snaps, groaning as she stretches her legs, jogging in place. “It’s been a long night for me, and I still don’t think I’ve processed what happened in the Shrieking Shack.” But she follows Hermione anyway, stalking between the trees until Buckbeak comes into view.

“He is kind of cute, isn’t he?” Hermione whispers, kneeling down beside Darcy behind an oversized pumpkin a few feet away from the trees. 

“Won’t be so cute with his head missing…” Darcy says, giving Hermione a very serious look. “How are we supposed to do this? You don’t really expect one of us to just jump on his back and—”

But a startled shriek from inside Hagrid’s cabin makes Darcy jump. “That’s me,” Hermione says, seeming jumpy. Her eyes dart from Buckbeak to Hagrid’s cabin to the path winding up towards the castle. “I’ve just found Scabbers…”

Darcy checks her watch, drumming her fingers on the pumpkin impatiently. Her nerves are jangling now, and what had seemed so exciting and adventurous only a little while ago now seems dangerous, impossible, and absolutely ridiculous. As Darcy looks at Buckbeak, digging his beak into the dirt, trying to think of how to lead Buckbeak away without anyone seeing, Harry whispers in her ear. “What if we— what if we just go in there?” Harry suggests tentatively. “We could take Pettigrew now, before he can escape—”

But Hermione is the one to answer him. “ _ No _ !” she murmurs, leaning forward the better to see Harry. “You heard Dumbledore— we mustn’t be seen. We’re breaking one of the most important wizarding laws— no one is supposed to meddle with time!”

“I did an essay last year on time traveling witches and wizards,” Darcy says to Harry, her voice a bit softer than Hermione’s sharp one. “Past wizards and witches often think there’s some kind of Dark magic involved, because how are they supposed to know what’s going on? In some cases, they’ve actually killed themselves— I’m sure I don’t have to tell you why that’s such a bad thing?”

“They’re coming,” Hermione sighs, pointing towards the men walking towards Hagrid’s. “Which means  _ we’re _ about to come out.”

And sure enough, Darcy watches the four of them exit Hagrid’s cabin through the back door. They watch as the four of them plead with Hagrid, offering to stay, offering help. And then, the Invisibility Cloak covers the four of them, and Darcy follows their footprints as they flatten the grass with each step. Darcy feels a sense of foreboding suddenly, a sense of pity for her past self — her past self doesn’t know what’s coming, doesn’t know that in a little bit, she’ll be shaking and crying in the Shrieking Shack, finding out things that she never thought possible… 

“Let them see Buckbeak,” Darcy says, forcing herself to look back at Hagrid’s cabin, noticing Harry inching around the pumpkin. 

“We won’t have time!” Harry protests, frowning at her. 

“If they don’t see that Buckbeak is out here, they’ll think Hagrid set him free,” Hermione adds, and Darcy nods in agreement. 

And then a face appears in the window, and the three of them duck behind the pumpkin, holding their breaths. Darcy is the first to rise, peering over the top, and when she sees that Macnair is no longer looking longingly at Buckbeak, Darcy grabs Harry’s shirt and swings him around the side of the pumpkin. 

“You can do this, Harry,” she whispers, as Harry creeps ever forward. Darcy tries to ignore the voices, checking her watch again, looking towards the castle to see if she can see herself, but the four of them are still invisible. “Hermione— come on.”

Hermione looks at Darcy, shaking all over. When she speaks, her voice is several octaves higher than usual, even when she whispers. “How are you so calm right now?”

Darcy grabs Hermione’s hand, pulling her back into the shadow of the trees, watching Harry untie Buckbeak’s rope and begin to pull. “I’m telling you,” Darcy says with a shaky laugh, “tomorrow morning it’ll all hit me at once.”

“Hurry, Harry!” Hermione breathes, and Harry looks over his shoulder at her, exasperated, tugging at Buckbeak’s rope harder, trying to lead him to the forest. “Darcy, can I ask you something?”

“Is it something that can wait until morning?” Darcy asks quickly, shifting her weight from foot to foot as Harry drags Buckbeak nearer and nearer to them. 

“Well, it’s about Professor Lupin— come  _ on, _ Harry!”

“Hermione!” Darcy hisses, giving her the same exasperated look Harry had just given her. “Is now  _ really _ the time?”

“Okay, you’re right— I’m sorry! I was only curious!” Hermione moans, leaping to Harry’s aid as he draws closer, pulling at the rope. There’s the sound of a door opening, and Hermione stops in her tracks. “Stop! Stop— they’ll hear us!”

Everyone freezes, hidden by the trees, as the old Committee member steps out into Hagrid’s garden, looking around wildly this way and that. “Wh—where is it? Where is the beast?” he wonders, his voice echoing in Darcy’s head. She looks to Buckbeak — quiet, but desperate to get back to Hagrid.

“I just saw it,” Macnair replies. “It was here— tied up.”

And then Dumbledore’s voice, sounding slightly amused. “How extraordinary…”

Darcy expects the men to all shuffle back inside Hagrid’s house, but jumps when she hears the swish of Macnair’s axe — but instead of cutting off a head, the axe lands in the fence, and Hagrid begins to howl again. Darcy’s heart leaps with joy knowing that he’s crying tears of joy, and not because Buckbeak has been killed… 

After a minute’s squabbling between the men about Buckbeak, they do retreat inside, and Harry urges Buckbeak slightly further into the forest. The three of them stand there for a moment, amazed and grinning at the sight of Buckbeak. “We’ll have to wait now,” Hermione sighs, allowing herself a few steps back to put some distance between herself and the hippogriff. “There’s nothing we can do until Sirius is captured.”

“I know a place we can sit. Follow me,” Darcy says, and she leads the way through the thicket of trees, her eyes on the Whomping Willow. She catches a glimpse of herself, finally chasing after Ron, and she sees Sirius clamp down hard on his leg, dragging him to the base of the tree. She loses sight of herself for a moment, but Darcy slips between two thick trees and finds herself at the place where she and Lupin once sat, one of the first times they’d had a real conversation. Harry ties Buckbeak to a nearby tree, and Darcy scrambles up on the flat rock, watching the Whomping Willow flail it’s branches, whacking Darcy across the face. 

They’re quiet for a moment, and Darcy sees the three of them slip down the base of the trunk, into the tunnel that leads to the Shrieking Shack. Darcy pulls her knees to her chest as the sky around them darkens. Her mind is racing, so many thoughts floating around that she can’t think straight — she doesn’t want to think right now, as it makes her head throb, but how can she not dwell on what happened? For months, Darcy had let guilt nearly eat her alive at the very thought of loving Sirius — those dreams, while leaving her feeling whole again, had also left her feeling unclean, but now… knowing what she knows, knowing that she doesn’t have to feel guilty about dreaming of him after all… 

Darcy pictures a life with Sirius — not the life she could have had growing up, but a life she still could have. A life where she celebrates holidays with Sirius and Harry, a life where Sirius hugs her when she returns home after a few days, a life where he smiles at her, where she never has to be sneered at by the Dursleys or hit or shouted at. But Darcy squirms uncomfortably as she sees Lupin sprinting down to the Whomping Willow — where does he fit into all of this? She had told him she would be his family, and she had meant it. But Darcy has a feeling Sirius wouldn’t look upon their relationship — or whatever it is they have — too favorably. Sirius  _ had  _ a little awkward when pointing out the closeness between them, but wouldn’t Sirius be _ glad  _ she’d found someone who cared about her? Surely when she tells him about her life at Privet Drive — surely when she tells him everything that happened to her since being pried from his chest — Sirius will be outraged, and when he realizes how little she’s been loved, he’ll be glad that his friend — that her father’s friend — has shown her love she’s never known?

Her chest hurts again, and the absurdity of the moment hits her. What if they don’t reach Sirius in time? What if something goes horribly wrong and the dementors get to him? Dumbledore surely won’t give them another chance… If they fail now to save him from his terrible fate, Darcy will never see him again… Tensing, Darcy tries to focus — they  _ must not fail, _ for the mere memory of her and Sirius crashing together, holding each other, is something she wants to recreate many more times. The mere memory of his arms around her had made her feel whole again, just like waking from one of her dreams. She can’t believe she ever called those dreams nightmares… 

She looks over at Harry, who watches the Whomping Willow closely. He narrows his eyes suddenly and Darcy looks back at the grounds. Snape is running down, grabbing the Invisibility Cloak, about to jump down the tunnel and attempt to condemn both Sirius and Lupin to an undeserving fate. Hatred such as Darcy has never known flows through her at the sight of Snape, and her breathing becomes more ragged. To be kissed by the dementors is, to Darcy, a fate worse than death, yet Snape was so ready to call the dementors on both Lupin and Sirius, unflinching and  _ proud  _ of it. 

Darcy begins to process everything that had been said, and she thinks hard about what Lupin had said about the trick — Sirius surely had known Snape would die if he went through with it — surely Sirius knew that what he was doing was stupid… they were only kids, younger than Darcy is now, but even so… Darcy can’t imagine herself ever doing something so horrible to someone, can’t imagine putting someone’s life at risk, no matter what her feelings towards them — but for a brief moment, all she wants is Snape to hurt. Surely he  _ deserved  _ what Sirius did to him… Darcy can’t think of a reason why Lupin wouldn’t tell her anything now, not after everything that has transpired, and she makes a mental note to ask him in the morning why Sirius felt Snape deserved to meet a grown werewolf. 

“Darcy?”

Jumping slightly, her heart stopping for an entire second, Darcy turns to face Harry and Hermione. Hermione looks at her apologetically, her being the one who had called her name. Buckbeak paws at the ground, his hooves thudding slightly against the hard earth. “What?” Darcy replies, but she’s sure she already knows what’s coming. 

“Why— why didn’t you tell anyone about Professor Lupin?” Hermione asks. “After he did what he did, why did you ask him to stay?”

Darcy locks eyes with Harry, and then shrugs. “I didn’t want him to go away,” she whispers, looking at the Whomping Willow again. “I thought— I thought my parents would be disappointed if I told Dumbledore to sack their best friend, and I— he’s the closest thing I’ve had to family besides Harry in so long…” Her right hand finds her shoulder, fingering the scars over her blouse, stained with dried blood. The night she’d come across Lupin in the Shrieking Shack seems a lifetime ago. 

“What happened that night?” Harry says, filling the awkward silence. “The whole story?”

“I told you the whole story,” she snaps, but Darcy softens, frowning. “I had run into Snape earlier that week and the potion had spilled… so when full moon came, I followed Professor Lupin into the Whomping Willow. I didn’t even entertain the idea he might be a werewolf— I thought he was meeting Sirius Black and I— I don’t know what I thought I would do if I saw them. When I got to the Shrieking Shack, he had already transformed, and he scratched me… before he could bite me, Snape had shown up… he had seen me crossing the grounds and came after me. He tried to help me out, but I fainted, and Snape carried me back to his office. He sealed my scars…” Her heart begins to hammer again — she doesn’t want to think about Snape. 

“Is there— I mean, Darcy—” Hermione clears her throat, her cheeks pink. “Is there something, you know… going on between you and Professor Lupin?”

Darcy blinks. Hadn’t Harry told her? But when Darcy looks at her brother, he’s looking at the ground, avoiding her eyes. Looking back to Hermione, Darcy struggles with her internal conflict. What harm is there in telling Hermione now? After all, she’s technically no longer a student… “Yes,” Darcy breathes, her mouth suddenly very dry. Her answer seems so inadequate, and Darcy feels the need to explain herself, to tell Hermione that they care about each other, that she loves Lupin, but she can’t think of anything to say. “Harry, tell me again what happened when I passed out.”

“It’s like I said,” Harry says again, slowly. “As soon as you and Ron were knocked out, Pettigrew transformed and got away… Hermione and I went after Sirius and… hundreds of dementors were there. Sirius was hurt, badly bleeding, and he passed out— then Hermione did. I tried to cast a Patronus, but I couldn’t. And— I saw— I saw what’s under a dementor’s hood.”

Darcy shakes her head, her stomach twisting into knots again. 

“It was going to kiss me,” Harry rasps, sliding off the smooth, flat rock and beginning to pace restlessly. “And then— that’s when I saw it. The Patronus— it drove all the dementors away.”

“Hundreds of dementors?” Darcy inquires, raising her eyebrows and looking to Hermione. “Well, who was it? Who casted it? Was it Snape? Dumbledore?”

Harry thinks for a minute. “I think it—” He stops abruptly, turning away from Darcy. “I don’t know.”

Darcy gets to her feet, as well. “Who do you think it was, Harry?”

Harry shrugs, trying to seem casual but stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I think it was dad.”

More silence. Darcy opens her mouth to reply, but isn’t sure how to answer. “Dad’s dead, Harry.”

“Yeah. I know. It’s just— it looked like him. I told you, I don’t know.”

Darcy doesn’t answer this time. She doesn’t want Harry to think she thinks he’s crazy, but…  _ it’s impossible, isn’t it? _ Darcy looks back towards the grounds, watches the full moon appear from behind some clouds. The glow of the moonlight bathes the grounds in shimmering white light, and Darcy sits in silence, her brain still reeling. Had her father truly been the one to cast such a powerful Patronus? Had her father been the one to save Harry from the same fate Sirius was condemned to? The thought of Harry, Sirius, and Hermione being kissed by dementors make her sick, and Darcy holds her arms around herself, wishing it was morning — wishing everything was over, wishing she and Lupin could be seated by a warm fire, talking about everything he hadn’t told her until tonight. 

The three of them don’t talk for at least an hour. Darcy continually checks her watch, but time seems to move slower than usual. And finally, Hermione gasps — “Here we come!”

Darcy watches the strange group of people climb up through the hole, watches Lupin turn quickly to reach down for Darcy’s hand. She watches herself hug Harry and Hermione to her, her heart speeding up all the while. She glances up at the sky, sees the clouds shift to reveal the full moon, completely forgotten during the events in the Shrieking Shack. There’s a bright flash of light and Darcy feels her chest tingle again as Pettigrew takes advantage of the confusion — Ron, his body blocking most of Darcy’s, does take the brunt of the spell, and she sees them both collapse next to each other. 

“Darcy— Hermione— we have to—”

Hermione, eyes still following the scene near the Whomping Willow, winces as she hears Lupin howling. “We can’t, Harry— there’s nothing we can do—”

“No— I don’t mean—”

And as Sirius clashes with Lupin, Darcy understands. Her shoulder twinges painfully, her chest burns, her stomach flutters, and Darcy finds Lupin among the crowd, seeing him moving closer and closer to the forest. She takes several steps back towards Buckbeak, stumbling over her feet in the process. “We have to go,” she mutters, and Harry nods frantically. “We have to go— we have to— help me, Harry! Let’s get on the other side of the lake, quickly!”

The deep howling follows them halfway towards the opposite shore. Darcy leads them again, sprinting as fast as she can, not keen on coming face to face with a werewolf for a third time. The branches and brambles catch on Darcy’s shirt and skirt, and she isn’t going nearly as fast as she wishes, her thick skirt restricting a lot of her movement. She feels a thin branch cut the side of her cheek and it stings only for a moment before it’s forgotten — rather a small cut than to have matching scars on her right shoulder… She can hear Buckbeak cantering behind her, and Hermione’s light footsteps and heavy breathing from over her shoulder. Harry continues to urge Buckbeak faster, and when they reach the opposite shore, Darcy dives behind a large bush, looking around for any sign of Lupin. 

All is quiet, and still. Darcy wishes for a chill, night breeze to cool her. Her clothes are suddenly very tight, and Darcy pulls her tie off quickly, throwing it on the ground, laying back on the grass and closing her eyes. But yelping reaches her ears — yelping that isn’t a werewolf. She sits up, scrambling to her knees and kneeling shoulder to shoulder between Harry and Hermione, watching the scene unfold on the other side of the lake. 

Terror floods her as the dementors swoop down from all directions. Harry hadn’t been lying — at least a hundred of them surround the figures of Harry, Sirius, and Hermione. There’s a weak blue-white light as Harry attempts to cast a Patronus, but it hardly does anything. It vanishes again and again and again and Darcy can’t look away — 

“Dad’s coming,” Harry says weakly in Darcy’s ear. She looks around for a sign of someone else watching from the shadows. “He’s coming, Darcy— he was  _ right here _ .”

Darcy’s jaw clenches, still swollen. “Harry…” she whispers, shaking her head and gripping Harry’s upper arm very tightly. “Dad isn’t coming. Dad’s dead, Harry— dad isn’t coming…”

And before Harry can give answer, he leaps from behind the bush, wand out. Darcy and Hermione hiss his name, and Hermione grabs hold of Darcy’s hand, keeping her from chasing after him. But Harry has already bellowed, “ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ” and the light that emits from his spell nearly blinds them. Darcy shields her eyes with her hand for a moment, but curiosity gets the better of her, and she looks through her fingers. 

Harry’s Patronus — real and corporeal — gallops across the surface of the lake, ghostly white and eerily beautiful, bigger than the doe Darcy’s has taken the shape of. It charges the dementors, lightening the entire lake, making the water seem like a dark mirror underneath its feet. The dementors retreat at the sight of it, and the air becomes warmer now, and more sounds are beginning to return — the singing of a songbird, the chirping of insects, the crunching of leaves as small, curious animals jump around in bushes and in trees. When the Patronus successfully dispels the dementors, it moves quickly and gracefully back to Harry, and Darcy can see the animal it is now — a stag, large antlers pearly white, a body big enough for Darcy to climb on. 

Darcy stands up straight, staring at the Patronus now circling Harry. Harry looks back at her and smiles. “It wasn’t dad,” he tells her in a croaky voice. “It was  _ me. _ ” Harry reaches out a hand to touch the stag, but his hand falls through it. “ _ Prongs. _ ”

“ _ Dad _ ,” she breathes. And Darcy remembers the doe Patronus dancing around the Great Hall, the same shape but lacking antlers. Looking at Harry then, Darcy suddenly realizes the striking resemblance between him and their father, realizes that their parents live on through them — through their Patronuses, through their actions, through their words and looks. Darcy’s heart is suddenly very full and even as the Patronus fades, the warmth that fills Darcy doesn’t vanish with it. 

Across the lake, Hermione points out Snape, two stretchers floating at his side. Darcy’s hair falls off the side, the ends of it brushing against the grass. Beside her is Ron, occupying the other stretcher. Snape conjures up three more, binding Sirius with ropes, and he turns away quickly, heading back towards the castle. 

Darcy stares at her watch, watching the minutes tick past. One minute, three minutes, five minutes… and just past ten minutes, Hermione alerts her to a figure making their way down the lawn. Darcy begins to tremble again, lingering doubts forcing their way into her mind. “He’s coming to get the dementors,” Hermione says, and she seems just as nervous. “We have to go now— this is our chance.”

They all move quickly, Harry helping Hermione onto Buckbeak’s back. Harry sits in front, Hermione’s arms wrapped in a death grip around his waist. Darcy sits behind her, shaking horribly now, holding onto Hermione with all her strength. “I hate flying,” she whimpers, closing her eyes and burying her face into Hermione’s shoulder. “Whatever happens, don’t let me loo—” But as Buckbeak pushes hard off the ground, Darcy screams, looking down anyway as the forest floor shrinks below her. She digs her knees into Buckbeak’s rump, squeezing Hermione tighter. “Oh— Emily will never believe this—”

Despite the wind rushing in Darcy’s ears, Buckbeak seems to be flying almost silently through the air, Harry leading him higher and higher, past darkened windows, counting to himself, and Darcy lurches forward as Buckbeak slows, stopping in midair. Opening her eyes, Darcy looks into the window they’ve stopped outside and her heart jumps into her throat. Harry raps on the window, holding onto Buckbeak with his knees, and Sirius looks up at them, hesitating for just a second before attempting to open the locked window.

Hermione’s hand brushes Darcy’s leg, reaching for her wand, and quickly she shouts, “ _ Alohomora! _ ” The window opens immediately, and Sirius starts climbing out of it, stuttering and staring at the three of them. 

Darcy stretches out her hand, helping Sirius onto Buckbeak behind her. “Let’s go, Buckbeak!” Harry yells. Sirius wraps his arms around Darcy’s waist, laughing in her ear, as they soar up towards the high tower, aiming for a space to land. 

“How is this possible?” Sirius asks loudly, and Darcy looks over her shoulder at him, admiring the broad smile on his face and feeling close to tears. She smiles back at him, and they both start laughing as Buckbeak circles once around the West Tower, finally touching down. 

Darcy, Harry, and Hermione slide off Buckbeak, but Sirius stays put. Darcy realizes he’s not behind her, turns on her heels, and grabs at his hand as he moves forward on Buckbeak’s back. “No— Sirius,” she cries, eyes welling with tears. Darcy tries to pull him off the hippogriff, but he just smiles sadly at her. In a split second, Darcy makes her decision, trying to climb back on Buckbeak, but Harry and Hermione grab her before she can jump on. “Let me go with you—”

Sirius sighs heavily, quickly jumping off the hippogriff’s back and approaching Darcy. He touches her shoulders, squeezing them slightly before taking her hands in his. She shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I have to go—”

“No—”

“Darcy, we’ve waited twelve years to see each other again,” he murmurs, hands cupping her wet cheeks. “This time, it won’t be nearly so long.”

“Sirius, don’t leave me, please—”

“Darcy,” he whispers, quieting her. His thumbs brush away her tears and Sirius leans in to kiss her forehead. But Darcy continues to shake her head, her head pounding, unable to think of something proper to say. “I have to go… We’ll see each other again, I promise you.”

Sirius looks quickly at Harry and Hermione, giving Harry a lingering look. He lowers his hands from Darcy’s face, taking her hands in his and squeezing before letting go. She watches, frozen to the spot, as Sirius jumps back on Buckbeak, and the hippogriff sets off, the wind from his wings unfolding blowing Darcy’s hair back. Sirius nods at her as they both take off, and as Sirius flies away into the night, Darcy hopes he’ll look back at her one more time — one more time so she can see his face, so she can see his smile, the brightness of his eyes. 

_ Please look back _ , she prays, her chest burning worse than ever. Darcy falls to her knees, holding her chest.  _ Please look back. _

But he doesn’t. And just like that, he’s gone.


	60. Chapter 60

Darcy doesn’t remember running back to the hospital wing. She only remembers the feel of Harry’s and Hermione’s hands in her own, pulling her away from where she’d been standing, watching Sirius fly away from her — crying as he and Buckbeak had disappeared into the darkness; the sound of Harry’s and Hermione’s incoherent voices in her ears as the entire world spun around her; the tightening in her chest which surely is not just the effects of Pettigrew’s spell, but the pain of her own breaking heart; the burning desire for Lupin to sweep her in his arms and take her away from all of this — from Hogwarts, from Snape, from Privet Drive; her longing to be anyone else in this world besides herself. 

Madam Pomfrey fusses over her, completely perplexed as to what Dumbledore could have said to make Darcy so upset. She forces chocolate into Darcy’s mouth, but it melts on her tongue after Darcy can’t find the strength to chew it. She trickles a bitter tasting potion down Darcy’s throat, which does absolutely nothing for her. Madam Pomfrey checks her eyes, feels the pounding pulse in her wrist and neck, wipes the sweat and dried blood off Darcy’s face. Darcy doesn’t hear the questions she asks, doesn’t hear the answers Harry gives for her, and only when Harry reaches over towards her bed and takes her hand does Darcy react, looking over to her brother and squeezing his hand tight before letting go and letting her hand fall lazily over the side of her bed. 

_ Sirius is gone, _ she tells herself, over and over and over again.  _ Sirius left me, just like he left me with Hagrid. My last chance at a real family  _ —  _ gone.  _ Sirius promised it wouldn’t be a twelve year long wait this time, but how long will it be? How long until Sirius will be able to hold her again? How long until Sirius will be able to kiss her forehead, smile at her, give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze? And what if she never sees Sirius again? What if something happens to him and Buckbeak on their way to wherever they’re going? The uncertainty of it all physically pains her, causes her stomach to churn, but through all of her hazy thoughts and tears, a voice brings her back to reality — a voice that causes her great anger and heartbreak and Darcy sits up straighter, forcing herself to turn towards the doors, contorting her face into one of disgust as the low, cold voice drawers closer and closer to the hospital wing.

As exhausted as she is, she’s glad to see Snape nearly kick the doors of the hospital wing open, screaming bloody murder. With all the emotions bubbling in her right now, Snape is a welcome sight, someone to siphon off all of her rage and horror and anguish and heartbreak. And as soon as she hears the word ‘Potter’, Darcy sits up and stares at him, glad that he walks directly over to her, but her heart sinks when she sees that he is not alone. Fudge walks in next, looking quite distressed and white-faced, and Dumbledore follows him, looking serene, his hands held in front of him.

“What have you done, Potter?” Snape shouts, leaning over the foot of her bed once more, his eyes flashing. “ _ What have you done? _ ”

But seeing the rage in his face, seeing the disappointment and disbelief is the icing on the cake. Darcy leans back on her pillow again, watching him, and to everyone’s surprise in the hospital wing, she begins to laugh. Snape’s brow furrows for a moment, clearly not expecting this reaction, and he grabs the bedframe and shakes it once, making Darcy laugh harder. Everything she wants to yell in his face at that moment are things she doesn’t want Dumbledore or Fudge or Madam Pomfrey to hear. She wants to yell in his face that  _ they won, _ that it’s  _ over _ , and Snape failed to capture Sirius Black because of her, Harry, and Hermione — three kids. She wants to revel in the fact that there is no reason now for Snape to smile one of his cold and triumphant smiles, to rub Sirius’s escape in his face. 

Harry and Hermione do nothing, say nothing, only look at Darcy with wide eyes. With tears in her eyes, Darcy’s laughter subsides, leaving only silence in the hospital wing. And then Snape bends lower again, his lips trembling with anger. “You helped him escape!” he snaps. “What have you done?”

“Severus, please!” Madam Pomfrey interrupts, looking outraged. “Darcy’s distressed! She’s been in my care since she arrived here!”

“I locked them in myself ten minutes ago,” Dumbledore says, his eyes twinkling as he looks past Snape to Darcy. “As talented as these three are, ten minutes is a short amount of time to conduct a rescue mission. Poppy, have these children left their beds at all since I’ve left them?”

“Of course not!” Madam Pomfrey answers immediately. “I would have heard them!”

With one last, withering glare at Darcy, Snape silently admits defeat and turns quickly, retreating from the hospital wing. As soon as he leaves, however, Darcy’s exhaustion returns. Without someone to take her feelings out on, she feels overwhelmed with emotion. She settles back on her pillow and lets Madam Pomfrey drip some more potion down her throat, fussing with the scratches around her scars that had been left by Crookshanks in the Shrieking Shack. Darcy tries to eat her chocolate, chewing very slowly, but it doesn’t make her feel any better. When Dumbledore and Fudge finally leave the hospital wing, Darcy feels very empty, and she tries to control the pounding of her heart. When Madam Pomfrey insists she rest, the matron hurries back into her office, leaving them in a suffocating quiet.

It isn’t long before Ron begins to stir, however, and Darcy sits up when he puts a hand to his head, looking around. His eyes sweep over Darcy, Harry, and Hermione, and he groans loudly and dramatically. “What happened?” he asks, laying back on his pillow. “Last thing I remember— where’s Sirius? And Lupin—?”

Darcy is very thankful when Harry asks Hermione to explain everything. 

Harry, Hermione, and Ron all fall asleep rather quickly an hour after Hermione finishes telling Ron everything. Darcy lays awake, listening to their soft snores and breathing, trying to listen for the sounds of distant howling from the forest. While her body is exhausted from the night’s events, her mind is much too full for her to ever fall asleep. She replays the events in her mind’s eye over and over again, relives the moment she had fallen into Sirius’s chest, Lupin’s reassuring touches whenever things had become too much, watching Sirius fly away on Buckbeak after saying goodbye.  _ He never looked back,  _ she tells herself. But Darcy tries very hard to be honest with herself, and thinks that — had she been in Sirius’s position — she wouldn’t have looked back either, afraid that one last look would have made her change her mind about leaving.  _ That’s it,  _ she thinks.  _ He was afraid looking at me would make him want to take me with him. _

Darcy’s anxiety peaks at the thought of Lupin, alone in the Forbidden Forest. She wonders what he’ll say when he finds out Sirius has gotten away, has gone back into hiding. Darcy isn’t the only one who has lost someone, she realizes — Lupin’s lost his friend, a friend he didn’t realize he still had until tonight. This thought makes her soften, and she wonders if Lupin will crawl back into his bed in the morning, craving company after all that had happened — possibly craving  _ her _ company,  _ her _ touch and  _ her  _ kisses. Darcy closes her eyes, wishing her bed wasn’t empty, wishing that someone was beside her, holding her, loving her. She feels lonely, a strange feeling considering that a few hours ago, she had thought she would have Sirius at her side for the rest of her life. Glancing over at Harry’s bed, Darcy entertains the idea of crawling into bed with him, or even with Hermione, but she doesn’t want to embarrass them simply because she needs a warm body beside her to sleep. 

Darcy checks her watch.  _ 4:32 _ . Is it so late already? She’s wasted hours laying awake, thinking of everything and nothing, trembling, afraid of falling asleep and having nightmares she hasn’t had in a long time. For a brief moment, she considers going back to Gryffindor Tower, sneaking out of the infirmary to slip into bed beside Emily, who wouldn’t turn her away, nor would she be embarrassed. But Darcy doesn’t feel much like explaining everything right now. She doesn’t feel like talking at all about what has just happened, so when she sits up in bed and quietly gets to her feet, she knows exactly where she wants to be.

She holds her shoes in her hand, not wanting the echoing of her footsteps to alert anyone. Darcy creeps to the door and grabs hold of the doorknob, praying that it’s unlocked — and it is. Darcy smiles weakly to herself, closing the door as quietly as possible behind her and moving quickly through the corridors and climbing the stairs, avoiding the ghosts when she sees the walls begin to shimmer with a pearly light. She finds her way to the classroom quickly, letting herself in and moving towards Lupin’s office.

A smoking goblet of Wolfsbane sits on his desk, untouched. Beside it, the Marauder’s Map lies open, the blueprint of Hogwarts visible. Darcy sees her own labeled dot on the map, sees her brother and friends in the hospital wing. But besides that, all is quiet and normal and people are sleeping in their beds, completely unaware of what happened tonight, dreaming of the end of exams and the freedom that comes with the start of summer. Not a single person knows nor cares what happens to Darcy’s godfather — not a single person knows nor cares that she has just lost someone she loves. Darcy sighs, pulling her wand out of the waistband of her skirt and touching it to the map — “Mischief managed.” The lines and writing disappear, and Darcy moves to the wall where the hidden door is set. 

To her surprise, the door is opened, just a crack, as if Lupin had left in so much of a hurry, he’d forgotten to close it. Darcy walks inside, looking around. The fire in the hearth has long died out; there’s an empty mug on the coffee table, a pair of robes hanging over the back of a chair where she and Lupin had played chess not too long ago. It’s too quiet in here, and the silence presses heavy on Darcy’s ears, making her feel as if she is drowning in it. An old copy of the  _ Daily Prophet _ sits on the counter, opened to a page with an article about Sirius. Darcy closes it, keeping her eyes averted from the picture. 

She sits on the sofa, staring into the empty fireplace, too tired to start a fire. She doesn’t have the energy to lift her arms, to cast a spell, to think the incantation. Checking her watch again, Darcy rests her head on the back of the sofa, closing her eyes, but knowing there is no way she will fall asleep. She thinks of turning some music on, but can’t find it in her to stand up. Sitting here, in Lupin’s apartments, is worse than being in the hospital wing. At least in the hospital wing, she could look over at her brother, or Hermione, or even Ron. Here, there is no one, and Darcy curls up, holding her knees to her chest and crying, waiting for Lupin to return.

Darcy waits hours. She had thought that Lupin would stumble in through the door at first light, but he doesn’t. It isn’t until halfway through breakfast does Darcy hear movement in his office — the opening and closing of a door, the crumpling of paper as he folds up the Marauder’s Map, heavy and slow footsteps. She’s beyond exhausted by then, fighting sleep as it starts to creep up on her, very unwelcome. And when she hears the door of his apartments swing open, Darcy finds her strength again and jumps to her feet, swaying on the spot for a moment.

Lupin looks up at her, slightly surprised, closing the door slowly behind him. There are several scratches and cuts on his neck where Sirius had clamped down on his muzzle, and two long cuts down his right cheek that look to have already been cared for. His hair, lank and disheveled, still looks damp with sweat, there are dark shadows under his eyes that contrast with his ghostly white, almost sickly looking skin. His clothes have been replaced, however, but Lupin isn’t wearing anything she’s ever seen him in. A clean, white shirt hangs off his frame, several sizes too big for him and the top few buttons undone, and his pants seem quite large, as well. For a moment, the sight of him in such clothes reminds Darcy of Harry in Dudley’s old clothes — swimming in them.

“Darcy,” he rasps, as if his voice hasn’t been used in years. Lupin sounds incredulous, but he doesn’t move towards her. It seems to Darcy that there are several questions Lupin wants to ask at the same time, but she settles with, “What are you doing here?”

Darcy frowns, her heart aching. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I’ve just sent Gemma after you,” he says quietly, nodding towards the door as if she’s right behind him. He pauses for a moment, his shoulders hunched. “Dumbledore told me what you, Harry, and Hermione did. That was— very brave of you three.” 

Darcy doesn’t know how to answer. She gives a small shrug, still taking in his bedraggled appearance.  

“I’ve resigned,” he continues, voice still quite hoarse. “Just now. Dumbledore’s sent for a carriage.”

His words knock the wind out of Darcy and she swallows hard, shaking her head. “But—” she starts, unsure of how to continue. She’s sure another shocking admission will kill her. “How long do we have?”

Lupin clenches his jaw, exhaling deeply. “A few hours.” He runs a hand through his hair, but it only falls right back into his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Darcy lies, and from the way Lupin looks at her, he knows it. “You?”

“I’ll manage.”

And forgetting the soreness in her legs, Darcy sweeps over to Lupin, wrapping her arms around his neck, careful not to press on any of his fresh cuts. Lupin falls into her without saying a word, without warning, his arms wrapped tight around her waist, unintentionally digging his fingertips into her skin. Darcy runs her fingers through the back of his hair, closing her eyes and nuzzling against his warm neck. He smells of blood and sweat and there’s a slight clean linen scent there, as well. Darcy’s tears continue to fall onto his skin.

Lupin releases her, his hands finding her’s, taking them gently. Looking into her eyes, he leads her towards the back room. Darcy’s brow furrows, but as he reaches the foot of the bed, Lupin lets go of her hands. He climbs onto the bed, collapsing onto it, sighing as his face hits the pillow. Darcy watches for a moment as he closes his eyes, and then climbs in beside him, not bothering to get underneath the blankets. At the feel of her beside him, Lupin moves closer, nuzzling his face into her chest, just below her collarbone, and draping an arm around her. Darcy holds him to her tightly, fingers combing through his hair. With her free hand, she drags her fingers lightly up and down his back. She wants to lay like this for hours, for days,  _ forever _ — to forget the world around them and never have to worry or suffer ever again.

“Do you have to go?” she breathes after a long time, her voice shaky, her tears starting to slow. 

“Yes,” he whispers back, his breath tickling her skin over her shirt. Lupin pushes her blouse up slightly, brushing his thumb over the revealed skin. His touch makes her skin burn hot, just as it has since she met him. “Dumbledore’s done enough for me the past year, and I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my welcome.” 

They both shift slightly, moving closer to each other, as close as they can get. They tangle their legs together, Darcy’s arm underneath Lupin’s head, brushing his hair out of his face. She rests her chin atop his head, wanting to kiss him, wanting to kiss every inch of him she can reach. Just his being beside her has made her feel so comfortable and so calm and she needs to express it somehow, and his kisses are so sweet that Darcy can’t think of a better way to display her gratitude. She tries not to think of tomorrow, of the following days that Lupin will no longer be here to keep her company. She tries not to think about Lupin leaving her, not returning next year with her. 

“Darcy?” Lupin whispers again, and there seems to be a kind of pain in his tone that makes Darcy sad again. 

“Yes?”

There’s a pregnant pause, and Lupin opens and closes his eyes, eyelashes fluttering against her shirt. He turns his head slightly to keep his voice from being muffled. “I’m sorry.”

Darcy feels a lump form in her throat. She’s thankful he cannot see her tears flowing freely again. “It’s okay.”

“A better man than me would have told you everything long before last night,” he says, his voice hoarse. “You deserved to know, and I was too afraid to tell you. And yet, despite everything, you came back to me.”

Darcy frowns, wiping her wet face on the pillow. “Please don’t go,” she cries. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you, too— please—”

“I’m leaving Hogwarts, not you,” Lupin answers, lifting his head to look at her. “If you ever need me, Darcy, all you need to do is let me know, and I’ll be there.”

But he doesn’t  _ understand _ — he doesn’t understand her need to have him close by, so whenever she needs him, he’s there.  _ What’s stopping him from leaving and never coming back?  _ Darcy wonders.  _ Who says he isn’t lying? _ But Lupin wriggles out of her arms, moving quickly to wrap her in his own, and Darcy knows that he isn't lying, just as she knew he hadn't been lying in the Shrieking Shack. He has always been good to her, always been sweet on her and kind in ways she's never known. How could she ever believe that he would lie? How could she ever believe that he would just leave her after all they'd shared? He closes his eyes, resting his cheek against her forehead. “He’s gone,” she cries against his chest, back jumping with sobs. “He’s gone… we barely even got to say goodbye— he just left me—”

Lupin holds her tighter, and for a long time they lay there, tangled up in each other, as Darcy tells him about Hermione’s Time-Turner, about flying on Buckbeak, rescuing Sirius from the dementors. She tells him about Harry’s Patronus, to which he smiles weakly, eyes still closed, and Darcy starts to cry again, wanting to kiss his lips hard and feel his smile against her own. Lupin traces circles on her upper arm, sighing contently every so often. Darcy allows the steady rhythm of his heart underneath her to keep her grounded, his warmth blanketing her with a sense of safety she’s never known. Lupin listens to her speak, not asking questions or interrupting, just listening and smiling and stroking her hair or running his fingertips over her arm and back. 

And finally, when she finishes, Lupin cups her face with the hand that isn’t underneath her head, holding her to his chest. “Darcy, your parents would be  _ so proud _ of you.”

Darcy would give anything to see them again — to hear that phrase come from her own parents’ mouths.  _ They’re gone  _ —  _ mum’s dead, dad’s dead, Sirius is gone _ . She slips an arm under Lupin’s, grasping his shoulder and feeling the pain in her chest again that is her own heart breaking.

“ _ I’m _ proud of you.” For the first time that morning, Lupin presses his lips to the top of her head. When he pulls away, he is quiet for a moment, then he puts a finger under her chin, lifting her head so she can look at him. “Darcy, I love you.” 

Darcy’s heart starts to race, looking into the face of this man she loves so much, this man who has just told her he loves her. She gives him a small smile — a small, but genuine smile — and the smile he gives her in return seems to soothe her aching heart more than any of the potions Madam Pomfrey had given her. He wipes her eyes, kisses her tear stained cheeks. “Please don’t leave me,” she breathes, as Lupin kisses her forehead, and then her nose. 

He looks at her for a long time, tangling his fingers in her auburn hair. Lupin’s lips brush against her’s, the tips of their noses bump, and they close their eyes. Before he closes the gap and kisses her softly, he whispers, “Never.”


	61. Chapter 61

“Harry’s coming,” Darcy says absently, following his dot on the Marauder’s Map with her finger. He’s walking quickly through the corridors alone, fighting his way through crowds of students on his way to Lupin’s classroom. She looks up at Lupin, his back to her as he removes books from the bookshelves and places them into his trunk. 

“I hoped he would,” Lupin mutters, struggling to fit the books in his trunk. He stands up straighter again, smiling at her before returning to packing his things. 

Darcy smiles weakly back at him, looking down at the map again. Seated in his desk chair, Darcy brushes her hair back out of her face, sighing. She rubs furiously at her tired eyes, wishing Lupin had just let her sleep, but privately very glad he’d woken her up. It had been so nice to curl up against his chest and fall asleep, one of his arms hooked around her. So exhausted was she that she hadn’t even dreamt — not that she’d slept for very long. Lupin had kissed her for a long time, kissed her lips and her cheeks and her forehead and temples and nose, and when he had kissed every inch of her face, he’d pulled her to him again and Darcy had fallen asleep just like that, her arm wrapped around his middle, clinging onto him. 

Now clad in clothing that fits him (the elbows patched perfectly thanks to Darcy), Lupin bustles around the office, still looking very much in need of a long rest. She admires him for a moment, this man that is  _ her’s,  _ even if she would never admit it out loud to anyone. Lupin turns every so often just to glance at her, as if just to check Darcy is still there. Most of the office is now packed, the shelves emptied and his apartments cleared of all his personal effects. 

Darcy continues to follow Harry on the Marauder’s Map until his dot reaches the classroom, and a second later, the office door opens and Harry walks in. He looks around the empty office, frowning, a slight crease appearing between his eyebrows. Lupin pauses his packing to smile at Harry, but Harry turns to Darcy first. 

“Madam Pomfrey is mad at you,” he says bluntly, and Darcy can’t help but smile a little. “Dumbledore told her you probably went back to your dormitory.”

Darcy blushes furiously, looking back down at the map to hide her shame. “Dumbledore came to see you this morning?” she asks casually. “Did he say anything about Sirius?”

Harry hesitates, tilting his head slightly. “No, he— well, he wanted to talk to you.”

This grabs her attention, and Darcy looks up again. Even Lupin stops packing once more to look at Harry. “Why does he want to talk to me?” she says, looking to Lupin in hopes he’ll have an answer. “Do you think he wants to talk about last night?”

“Probably wants to talk to you about the way you yelled at Snape—”

“You yelled at Severus? You didn’t tell me that,” Lupin interrupts, narrowing his eyes at Darcy. “What about?”

“It was nothing,” Darcy replies quickly, waving an impatient hand. “He was lying about everything that had happened— he was lying to Fudge.” 

“You should be careful,” Lupin warns her, resuming his packing. “He may decide he doesn’t want you back next year.”

“I wasn’t going to sit there and listen to Snape tell lies about you and Sirius to the Minister of Magic,” Darcy retorts, getting to her feet. Checking her watch, she turns to speak to Lupin’s back. “I’ll wait in the classroom for you.”

Darcy forces herself to smile at Harry, ruffling his hair as she leaves her brother and Lupin to talk. She closes the door behind her, walking slowly down the stairs. The classroom seems very big without Lupin’s things scattered among the walls and shelves. It seems uninviting and cold, and Darcy seats herself atop one of the desks, swinging her legs over the edge. For a moment, she thinks of seeking out Dumbledore, just to check in, just to see what he has to say to her, but she doesn’t want to waste time, and she especially doesn’t want Lupin to leave before she can say her final goodbye. 

She doesn’t have to leave the classroom to seek Dumbledore out, however. After a few minutes of sitting in silence, listening to the quiet and muffled voices of Harry and Lupin behind the door of his office (she hears Lupin laugh once and her stomach churns, and hears Harry’s incredulous voice right afterwards), the classroom door opens and Dumbledore walks in slowly, his deeply lined face looking uncharacteristically serious. He sees Darcy at once and stops walking, holding his hands behind his back and approaching a bit slower. Dumbledore pulls up a chair at the desk in front of Darcy, sitting down and looking at her for a long time, making her feel incredibly guilty for reasons unknown to herself. 

“Professor, I’m sorry I snuck out of the hospital wing,” she tells him quickly, and this makes Dumbledore’s lips curl upwards, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “I just couldn’t bear to be there anymore, and I needed to get away and I know that Madam Pomfrey is probably furious, but she doesn’t understand— it was a long night and I—”

“So you decided to wait for Professor Lupin to return in the morning?” Dumbledore finishes for her, and Darcy nods in answer, lowering her head, feeling ashamed. “And I’m very sorry for holding him up, but I felt an explanation was due him. He was very glad to know that Sirius escaped.” There’s an awkward silence, and Darcy feels that she knows what is coming. “Darcy, earlier in the year, I gave you some advice in regards to Professor Lupin and yourself.”

“I remember, sir.”

Dumbledore steeples his fingers together, elbows resting on the desk, and Darcy frowns. “The two of you explicitly disobeyed my warning,” he tells her in a low voice, and Darcy meets his eyes only for a second, only to show him her shame. “I had thought, of all people, Professor Lupin would understand the consequences of your actions. You, on the other hand, have always been one more inclined to ignoring rules set in place for your own protection— something both you and your brother share.”

“Professor— sir— you can’t blame Professor Lupin for anything,” she says, her cheeks burning. “It was all my fault, but I— everything was my idea, I swear it—”

“You could have been expelled from school, Darcy,” Dumbledore continues quietly. “Professor Lupin could have lost his job, which would have been a great loss for all of us at Hogwarts. But I have not come here to tell you what could have and could not have happened— I know how you must be feeling, and I have no wish to make you feel any worse. There will be time later to talk about your severe breach of conduct.”

Darcy feels a great surge of affection for Dumbledore, but her heart breaks all over again, and tears build in her eyes. “Will I ever see him again, Professor?” she rasps, looking pleadingly at Dumbledore. “Where has he gone? Why couldn’t I go with him?”

“A life on a run is not a life for you,” Dumbledore explains gently. “You belong with Harry, with your family.”

“Those people are  _ not _ my family,” Darcy snaps, suddenly very angry at Dumbledore. “I should have gone with Sirius—”

“And leave those who love you?” Dumbledore asks. His eyes flick past Darcy to look up at the door of Lupin’s office. Harry’s opened the door for Lupin, whose hands are full with his trunk and an empty grindylow tank. The two of them look down upon Dumbledore and Darcy for a moment, and they both smile at her. She turns back to Dumbledore and he leans in to her, speaking quietly so neither Harry not Lupin can overhear him. “You and Sirius will meet again, Darcy, sooner than you think. But I believe it would have been an act of great recklessness and betrayal to have left everything behind for Sirius last night.”

“I don’t want to go back, Professor,” she whispers. “I don’t want to go back to Privet Drive ever again— I could take Harry with me.”

Dumbledore speaks to Harry and Lupin. “Could we have one more minute?” he asks, and Darcy hears the office door close. Dumbledore sighs heavily. He reaches inside his robes, pulling from them a sealed envelope. He holds it out for Darcy to take, and she sees that is isn’t addressed. Darcy takes it from him, turning it over in her hands. “When you return home this summer— and I promise you, one day you will understand why you must— I wish for you to give this letter to your aunt. Not your uncle, just your aunt.”

“May I know what’s in it, sir?”

“If she wishes to tell you.” Dumbledore watches Darcy place the envelope beside her on the desk. “Darcy, I think an apology is in order.”

Darcy raises an eyebrow. 

“When I appointed Professor Lupin to the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I knew that you would be enamoured with him the moment he revealed he was friends with your parents,” Dumbledore continues, seeming very weary. “I remember you as a little girl in your first few years, asking me questions about your parents, questions that pained even myself. But I felt I was never the person for you to hear such answers from. And I remember, just a few years ago, when you and Harry discovered the Mirror of Erised, and you did not have to tell me what you saw— I knew you would see your parents, alive and well, and Harry beside you.”

Darcy doesn’t answer. She wonders what she would see now if she looked into the mirror — her parents of course, and Harry, but would Sirius be there, too? 

“I know that you have not been shown the love you deserve,” Dumbledore says finally, after Darcy has a moment to mull things over. “I know that you have waited a long time to be loved the way you have been this year. Professor Lupin told me everything this morning, save for some details I think he wanted to keep private. I do not blame you for holding onto that.”

“I’m sorry, Professor Dumbledore,” she says apologetically, her heart heavy. “I never meant any disrespect, sir.”

Dumbledore doesn’t answer her, but his last look at her makes her feel very small and childish. He takes his wand from inside his pocket and points it at the office door. It swings open, and Harry and Lupin — who are mid-conversation, their voices rather low — stop talking immediately and shuffle through the open door. 

Darcy looks again at Harry and Lupin, these boys she loves so much, and she smiles at them. Dumbledore’s words have such an effect on her, that Darcy feels foolish for trying to go with Sirius now — foolish for thinking she could ever leave Harry behind, alone at Privet Drive without her — foolish for thinking she could ever live without having Harry at her side — foolish for thinking she could leave Lupin after all that had happened in the last year. She and Sirius had only just reunited after years, and of course she loves him — how could she not after months of dreaming of him and waking feeling a sense of love that she hadn’t felt in so long? But Lupin and Harry are  _ here,  _ already willing to love her.

Darcy gets off the desk, her legs working mechanically, bringing her up the few steps to the landing just outside of Lupin’s office. With her heart suddenly very light at the sight of them, Darcy wraps her arms around them both, holding them very tight. They both tense, and Harry squirms a little in her grip.

“Darcy…” he mutters in her ear. “Come on…”

Darcy pulls back just slightly, giving her brother a weak smile. “Just let me have this for a minute, Harry.”

Harry and Lupin exchange a quick glance, and she falls back into them. Darcy feels one of Lupin’s arms wrap around her waist, and one of Harry’s around her neck, and she closes her eyes, relishing the feeling of having a proper family for the first time in what feels like forever. 

Lupin allows Darcy to carry the empty tank for him as he walks quickly through the corridors of Hogwarts towards the entrance hall. Lunch is still going on in the Great Hall, and the two of them barely set foot over the threshold when someone calls their names.

“Hey, Darcy— Professor Lupin!”

They stop, turning to see Gemma running towards them. She’s smiling, which is a good sign to Darcy, and approaches them. Lupin urges them to keep moving, to move away from the crowd of students, and Gemma follows them into the sunlit courtyard, holding a hand up to her face to shield her eyes from the sun. 

“I see you found her,” Gemma grins at Darcy. 

This makes Lupin give a small laugh. “I found her easily on my own, funnily enough,” he replies. “Seems she was waiting for me to return.”

“You’re really leaving, huh?” Gemma asks quietly, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a sad look. Lupin nods slowly. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you, but listen— I’m doing classes this summer for a position at St. Mungo’s.”

Lupin looks at Darcy and smiles again, looking back to Gemma. “That’s wonderful.”

“Right, I know, I’m really excited and— well the point is,” Gemma continues. “I may be able to scrape together some ingredients for your potion if you’d like.”

Darcy looks at Gemma incredulously, feeling a great rush of affection for her friend. Even Lupin seems taken aback by this offer, and he stammers for a moment. “Gemma, I— that’s— I would never expect you to—”

“It comes at a price, of course,” Gemma adds, and Lupin looks at her warily. 

“What’s the price?” he asks her slowly. “Or do I want to know?”

Gemma smiles sweetly. “If you were interested,” she says dramatically, holding her hands behind her back and rocking backwards and forwards on her feet. “I’ve noticed there aren’t a lot of studies done on werewolves— understandable, of course, considering not a lot of people are willing to come forwards voluntarily— anyway, I’ve thought—”

“You want to experiment on me?” Lupin finishes for her, but he doesn’t sound angry or offended. When Darcy looks at him, he looks exasperated, but certainly not angry. 

“It would be less poking and prodding,” Gemma explains with a laugh. “And a little more experimenting with potions. Like I said, if you’re interested, I’d like to see if we could find something to ease the symptoms of lycanthropy. Not that we could cure it completely, and of course Wolfsbane doesn’t ease symptoms preceding and following the full moon, but—”

“You wouldn’t give me anything that could kill me, hopefully?” Lupin frowns. 

“Kill the only person who would even entertain my proposal?” Gemma balks, waving an impatient hand at him. “As long as you stay on my good side, you’ll be completely safe.”

Lupin shakes his head, laughing again. “I’ll think about it,” he answers. “It was good to meet you, Gemma. Tell Emily and Carla I said goodbye.” He holds out a hand to shake Gemma’s. 

“I will,” Gemma says, giving Lupin’s hand a firm shake. “Though it’s unlikely Emily listen. Goodbye, Professor Lupin. Think on what I’ve said. I’ll make sure Darcy tries to convince you to accept.”

As Gemma runs back into the castle and Darcy and Lupin continue to the grounds, something occurs to Darcy. She turns to Lupin and asks, “Have you spoken about being a werewolf to Gemma before?”

Lupin clears his throat. “I didn’t want to tell you, Darcy— I didn’t want you to worry, but I suppose you’ll find out eventually…” He sighs, setting down his trunk at the foot of the stairs that lead to the castle. Darcy lowers the empty tank in her arms, watching the thestral pulling Lupin’s carriage toss its head. “I found Gemma at breakfast to ask her to look for you, and— well, she told me Severus had told Slytherin House that I’m a werewolf.”

Darcy frowns, anger at Snape rising again in her. “That’s terrible,” she growls, thinking of Snape’s triumphant smile only last night when he had thought the dementors would get Sirius. “He had no right!”

“The truth would have come out eventually,” Lupin says, looking at Darcy for a long time. “It took longer than I had expected, but please don’t say anything more to Severus. You’ve done enough for me, Darcy, and I cannot thank you enough. I would hate to see him turn you away next year because you couldn’t hold your tongue.” Lupin grins at her, quickly brushing a few strands of hair out of her face and glancing towards the door of the entrance hall. He lowers his hand. 

“She’s known for months,” Darcy admits. “That you’re a werewolf.”

Lupin smiles, but gives no answer. “I’ve given Harry the Marauder’s Map back and the Invisibility Cloak.”

“Thank you,” Darcy replies. She wishes suddenly she was back in bed, curled up against Lupin, sleeping soundly. “I’ll see you over the summer, won’t I?”

Lupin smiles wider. “Yes—! I mean— yes,” he answers breathlessly. “I’ll— I’ll write to you about it. Yes— I’d like that very much.”

“Me too.”

Darcy helps Lupin load his things into the back of the carriage, but he doesn’t get in right away. They stand behind it, hidden from the castle’s entrance doors. “I hope Dumbledore didn’t give you a hard time,” he whispers. “I wanted to tell him myself before he found out in some terrible way.”

“He didn’t,” she shrugs, very sad to see Lupin fidget uncomfortably. “Don’t worry.”

“Listen,” he says, taking her hands in his and kissing her knuckles before letting go. “If your aunt and uncle are— if they hurt you or anything— I want you to tell me, do you understand?”

Darcy nods.

“And take care of Harry—”

“That goes without saying.”

“And don’t drink too much tonight—”

“How did you know about that?”

Lupin closes his eyes, looking as though what is going to come out of his mouth will physically pain him. “And  _ no _ broom closets.”

Darcy laughs. “No broom closets.” Lupin opens his eyes and smiles. “You know— if you need anything, please let me know.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

She sighs softly. “I’ll miss you.”

Lupin leans in to kiss her, but hesitates halfway in. He looks into her eyes briefly and settles with a quick kiss on her cheek. Darcy blushes as his lips touch her skin, and he pulls away from her very slowly. “I’ll see you soon, Darcy.”

Darcy helps him into the carriage, and he holds up a hand in farewell as the thestral begins to move, pulling carriage away from her. Darcy watches the carriage roll farther and farther away, and halfway down the lawn, Darcy finds herself praying for the same thing she had only last night as Sirius left her.

_ Please look back. Please look back. Please. _

And he does. Lupin turns in his seat and sticks his head out the window to look at her again, smiling all the while. Darcy smiles back at him, putting her fingers to her lips and blowing a subtle kiss to him. This makes him beam even more enthusiastically, the corners of his eyes crinkling before he retreats back into the carriage.

Darcy continues to watch until the carriage is completely out of sight, and despite the fact that Lupin is leaving, Darcy can’t help but feel a little less lonely. 


	62. Chapter 62

“Ah, cheer up, Darcy! We should be celebrating!”

Emily smiles at her, giving her a glass full of an amber liquid. Darcy places her empty cup beside her on the window ledge, taking a long drink. The firewhiskey burns her gullet and warms her chest, but it’s a welcome feeling, soothing the hole in her heart for a few seconds before disappearing again. Emily offers a cigarette to Darcy and lights it for her. Darcy takes a long drag as Emily sits on the window seat with her, their shoulders touching. Emily sets her half-empty glass down. 

Darcy feels quite tired, which is strange to her, considering she’d slept from just after Lupin’s departure to just before Gemma’s party. She had only awoken — disheveled, her hair sticking up in the back, and bleary-eyed — when the other four girls in her dormitory had been changing, chattering loudly about celebrating. Darcy hadn’t really wanted to go, but out of love for Gemma and the prospect of distracting her from thoughts of Sirius and Lupin, she had changed out of her bloodstained school uniform into something clean and comfortable. Emily had laid out a nice dress for Darcy that had briefly reminded her of something Petunia would have worn, but Darcy had put it on anyway, not wanting to spend time searching for another outfit. 

Turning to glance at Emily, Darcy smiles weakly at her, taking another drink of firewhiskey and ashing her cigarette on the ground. Darcy looks down at their hands, taking one of Emily’s in her own, lacing their fingers, needing to hold someone’s hand, needing to feel comforted. Emily squeezes tight, and it does give Darcy some small comfort, for which she’s very thankful. Darcy rests her cheek on Emily’s shoulder, and Emily doesn’t flinch or show any inclination to want to move away.

Darcy’s eyes scan the abandoned classroom. A group of Ravenclaw students surround a boy juggling several wands. A Gryffindor girl talks in a shadowy corner with a Hufflepuff boy. Most of the students, of all Houses, are listening to Gemma tell a story, and they all laugh heartily with her, but none laugh so hard as Carla, red-faced with drink and hanging off Gemma’s arm. Darcy envies them for a moment, able to laugh so hard, carefree and eager to be home with their families. 

She takes another drink. Another drag. Puts her cigarette out in her empty cup. Darcy and Emily sit there for a little, holding hands, chain-smoking cigarettes, finishing their drinks. Once, Oliver Wood turns to look at Darcy from his chair. She smiles weakly at him, holding up her free hand in acknowledgment. To her surprise, Oliver gives her a small smile before turning back to Gemma. 

And then, Gemma and Carla both meet Darcy’s gaze at the same time. Carla’s smile falters at the sight of Darcy, but Gemma keeps a wide grin on her face, glancing around at the laughing students and pulling Carla away from them. Some alcohol seems to have made Carla forget their argument, and Darcy’s just grateful it hasn’t been brought up.

Gemma takes the cigarette from Darcy’s lips, taking a long pull. Darcy doesn’t protest, watching her the entire time. “Lame party,” Gemma mutters, giving Darcy the cigarette back. 

“Want to get out of here?” Carla asks, a sly smile creeping back onto her face. “I don’t think anyone will notice.”

Darcy can’t put her gratitude into words. She nods silently and puts her cigarette out, getting to her feet immediately. Darcy leads them out of the classroom, recovering the Invisibility Cloak from behind a statue, and throwing it over the four of them. Their ankles show, and they walk uncomfortably close together, but no one speaks as Darcy’s feet take her automatically to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. No one questions Darcy’s decision to take them there, and they follow her inside. Carla closes the door behind them and Emily waves her wand, lighting the candles around the room, giving them just enough light. 

Darcy throws the Invisibility Cloak aside onto an empty desk. Emily and Darcy sit at another desk near the front of the class, and Gemma and Carla pull up chairs to sit across from them. Still, no one speaks. Darcy knows they’re waiting for her to say something, to explain. 

And that’s exactly what Darcy does. She tells them about going to visit Hagrid and Buckbeak, the black dog dragging Ron into the Shrieking Shack, the reasoning behind Darcy’s knowledge of the Shrieking Shack (to which Carla audibly gasps in horror). She tells them of Sirius Black, of everything Lupin had told them, of Peter Pettigrew sniffling at her feet like an actual, cowering rodent, pleading for mercy. She hesitates after telling them she wanted Lupin and Sirius to kill them, and the room seems somehow quieter than before. Darcy presses on, finishing with Sirius escaping on Buckbeak, a weight lifted off her chest. Her cheeks are wet with tears; Carla’s eyes are watery, as well. Emily holds her face in her hands, still processing Darcy’s story. Gemma hasn’t once looked away, and she’s now peering curiously at Darcy, as if her story is impossible. 

After minutes of sitting in silence, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, Emily is the one to break the silence. She runs her hands through her hair. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize he was a werewolf. I mean— all the signs were  _ right there. _ ”

Darcy, her heart swelling with love, begins to laugh. Emily, Gemma, and Carla begin to laugh with her, nervously at first. “Sirius Black is quite handsome isn’t he?” Gemma asks casually, a smile finding its way back to her face. “I’ve seen old photographs of him before. Mum’s very distantly related to some aunt of his— something like that.”

Darcy furrows her brow. “You’re related to Sirius?” 

“Barely,” Gemma answers. “All pureblood families are in some way. There aren’t many of us left anymore that can trace our lineage back for so long.”

Darcy smiles at Gemma. Of all the things they could ask or say about what she’s told them, Darcy is glad they’re able to make her laugh, to distract her from the heartache the thought of last night gives her. 

“I can’t believe you yelled at Snape,” Carla mutters, and Emily nods enthusiastically. “I’ve always wanted to do that. He’d probably kill me, though.”

“I can’t believe you knocked him out,” Emily scoffs. “He really deserved it, didn’t he?”

At this, Darcy’s smile fades. She looks around at her friends, wondering what they would say if she were to ask the question she’s bursting to ask. Frowning, she plunges on recklessly, curiosity getting the better of her. “Do you think Snape deserved it? What Sirius did to him?”

“Absolutely not.” Carla is the first to speak. There’s a faint crease between her eyebrows. “I’m not saying Professor Snape is undeserving of being knocked out and yelled at, but playing a joke on him like that— that’s not a funny joke.” 

Darcy’s stomach clenches, suddenly feeling ashamed of thinking otherwise. And then Gemma speaks. “Hold on,” she says, holding up a hand to stop Carla from continuing. “You don’t think Sirius just did that to be cruel, do you? Snape must have done something horrible— you don’t know the whole story.”

Carla doesn’t approve of this. “He could have died— he could have been bitten—”

“But he didn’t die and he wasn’t bitten,” Gemma replies. 

Gemma’s opinion gives Darcy a shred of hope. She doesn’t want to feel sorry for Snape, after all that’s happened. Emily rubs her face and thinks for a moment before giving her own opinion. “I agree with Gemma— without the whole story, it’s hard to say, but it does seem very cruel. How do you think Lupin would have felt had he actually bitten or killed Snape?” 

“Is this  _ concern _ for our dear Professor Lupin I’m sensing?” Gemma teases, and Darcy smiles feebly again. “Emily Duncan, I’m surprised at you. Empathy is not one of your strengths.”

“I’m not concerned for him,” Emily says quickly, not backing down. “He’s a grown man— he can take care of himself. I’m only trying to give my unbiased opinion—”

“Emily,” Carla laughs. “Why don’t you like him?”

“If I remember correctly, you didn’t much approve of him sleeping with Darcy, either.”

“You don’t like him because they slept together?” Gemma snorts. “You act like he’s been terrible to you when he has literally always been kind to you.”

Darcy listens to her friends bicker, and she’s surprised that Emily’s words don’t affect her. Carla continues, casting Darcy a sheepish look. “It took me by surprise,” she admits. “And Darcy knows it was a stupid thing to do, don’t you, Darcy?”

“I know,” she says truthfully. “I know it was.” But Darcy can’t say she regrets it. Thinking about how he’d been so gentle with her the first time gives her butterflies still, and remembering the second time — the last time — when he’d touched her a little harder and let her leave love bites on him, makes Darcy weak in the knees. But she doesn’t dwell on these thoughts. “Do you think Pettigrew deserved to die? Do you think we should have let Lupin and Sirius kill him?”

“Yes,” Emily answers firmly. “He betrayed your parents, framed Sirius and got him locked away in Azkaban for years. They should have killed him.”

Across the table, Gemma nods. “Death would have been a mercy,” she whispers, combing her fingers through her hair. “What kind of coward lives twelve years as a rat? He sounds disgusting.”

And then Carla sighs. “Maybe Gemma’s right about death being a mercy,” she says quietly. “He sounds like he wouldn’t last a day in Azkaban. You should have given him to the dementors— he should have been made to suffer what Sirius had to suffer.”

“What’s done is done,” Emily finishes. “You say Pettigrew escaped— what do you think he’s going to do? Rejoin Voldemort? There’s nothing he can do with him being dead.”

Carla jumps at the name, but Emily gives her a scathing, impatient look. “You shouldn’t say the name,” Carla squeaks, averting Emily’s gaze. 

“If he’s smart, he’ll live out the rest of his life as a rat,” Gemma sneers. “Now that Dumbledore knows the truth, doesn’t seem like it’ll be safe for him anywhere near here.”

“And Sirius is on the run again?” Carla asks, looking pensive. “Do you think he’ll try to find Pettigrew again? He definitely seems set on revenge.”

“I don’t know,” Darcy answers with a shrug. “I hope he doesn’t. I don’t think I could bear it to see Sirius chucked back in Azkaban. And I don’t think Fudge is quite keen to clear his name.”

Darcy frowns, suddenly feeling very exhausted. She wipes her face, which is still wet, and sighs. Then she remembers something — one last thing she’s been meaning to tell her friends. It seems so unimportant, but with everything that’s happened recently, Darcy wants to be able to share one piece of good news.

“Hey— I can cast a Patronus,” she smiles, feeling quite proud. “Want to see?”

“Holy shit,” Gemma jokes. “You actually learned something from those lessons?”

“Let’s see it, Darcy!” Carla gasps, sitting up straighter in her chair. 

“You better hope you can still do it after you’ve been drinking,” Emily murmurs, smiling at Darcy.

Darcy stands up, moves back from the desk, and pulls out her wand. She takes a minute to steady herself, thinking of a happy memory. She thinks of the Shrieking Shack, how she had felt Sirius hold her instead of dreaming it. With a twist of her wrist, her heart full, Darcy says, “ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ” 

At once, the doe bursts from the end of her wand, dazzling her friends’ faces with a blue-white light. The doe dances around the classroom walls, leaping over desks, and finally trots back to Darcy, ready for a command. Her friends begin to talk all at once excitedly, complimenting the beautiful doe, but Darcy barely hears them. She reaches out a hand to touch the Patronus, but there’s nothing to touch. Her hand falls through the light, but Darcy doesn’t care. The Patronus bows its head, graceful and elegant and powerful.

Darcy’s hand falls to her side. Her feelings of loneliness begin to subside again. Unable to stop looking at the Patronus, Darcy whispers, “ _ Mum. _ ”

* * *

After breakfast Saturday morning (during which, Madam Pomfrey had walked right up to Darcy and chastised her for sneaking out of the hospital wing, but gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, as well), Darcy and Harry walk out of the Great Hall together before other students begin to leave. Neither of them mention a destination, but both of them walk to the Owlery, where Max and Hedwig have just returned from a night of hunting. Max still has a dead mouse in his beak, and he drops it at Darcy’s feet immediately upon entering.

“Urgh,” Darcy groans, looking away from it. “Thanks, Max.”

Max hoots, clearly pleased with himself, and flies up to Darcy’s shoulder, sticking his face in his wing and quieting. She strokes his feathers for a moment.

Darcy turns to Harry then, and takes a deep breath. “One question at a time, then. Go easy on me.”

“Are you okay?”

She pauses, surprised that that question is the first one Harry asks. “No,” she breathes, feeling much better having told the truth. Darcy shrugs, scoffing. “But I’ll be okay.”

Harry considers her. “Look, there’s something I haven’t told you about last night,” Harry says, kicking aside some tiny animal bones that crunch beneath his feet. “When I had my Divination exam, Professor Trelawney— something was weird— Professor Dumbledore thinks she made a real prediction.”

“What happened?”

“I thought she was— having a fit, I guess. I don’t know. But she wasn’t herself, and she said…” Harry thinks for a minute, trying to recall her words. “Voldemort’s servant will break free and rejoin his master, and Voldemort will rise again, greater and more terrible than before.”

Darcy’s blood turns icy cold. A chill runs down her spine at these words. The desire for Peter Pettigrew’s death comes on quickly again, but she remembers Emily’s words —  _ what’s done is done.  _ But by insisting Pettigrew live, Darcy has to wonder — what could they have prevented had Lupin and Sirius just killed him? But who is to say Trelawney’s prediction will turn out to be true?

“Where do you think he is now? Wormtail?” Harry asks, looking out through the window and over the grounds. 

Darcy strokes Max again absentmindedly. He ruffles his feather, hooting very softly and nipping affectionately at her earlobe. “Who knows?” she answers, sighing and looking at Harry. “Whatever happens, Harry, happens. We’ll deal with it when it does.”

“You and me?” he whispers, not looking at his sister.

“You and me,” Darcy repeats. “Always.”

They’re quiet for a little while, looking out towards the forest, watching a few owls return to the Owlery after the night out. Finally, Harry looks sideways at Darcy, smiling slightly. “He asked me if it was okay, you know,” he tells Darcy. “He wanted to make sure it was all right with me for him to continue seeing you this summer.”

“Oh,” Darcy flushes a deep red. Her heart flutters at the thought of Lupin asking for Harry’s permission to see her outside of school. She can’t help but to smile, but she attempts to hide it from Harry. 

“It’s okay with me, Darcy,” Harry replies quickly. “I told him it’s okay.”

Darcy smiles in earnest as Harry turns to look at her. She wraps an arm around his torso, pulling him to her, and Darcy rests her head on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” he says, allowing Darcy to stand there, holding him, for a few minutes. “I don’t think I’ve had the chance to tell you.”

“Thanks, Harry.” Darcy lifts her head from his shoulder. “I’m glad I’m coming back next year.”

Harry nods slowly, smiling at her. “We make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah,” Darcy laughs softly. “We do.”

* * *

Darcy, Emily, Gemma, and Carla spend the rest of their days at Hogwarts basking in the sunshine. They swim in the lake often — Darcy on Emily’s shoulders and Carla on Gemma’s — fighting until one of them is knocked off into the water. Even the once humiliating scars on Darcy’s shoulder don’t stop her from tearing her shirt off to have fun in the cool lake. Once, when Gemma manages to kick Emily’s leg out from under her and Darcy topples over into the water, one of the giant squid’s tentacles wraps around Darcy’s waist and carries her back to the surface.

No one brings up Sirius again after Darcy’s drunken ranting on the subject the night of Gemma’s party, and they only ever mention Lupin in passing. But for the most part, Darcy’s friends keep her mind busy, and she smiles more the last week at Hogwarts than she has for a while, despite everything. She makes jokes with her friends again, tilts her head back when she laughs with them, as if howling at the moon. 

The last day of term, Harry, Carla, Hermione, and Ron receive their exam results. With the surplus of seventh years and fifth years, O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. results are delayed, and Emily curses McGonagall under her breath when she tells the Gryffindors their results will come out near the beginning of July. The conversation that ensues at breakfast over them lasts them nearly an hour. Carla joins them fifteen minutes in, complaining about her Transfiguration grade (“Professor McGonagall has it out for me ever since I started hanging out with you guys! How could she give me an E?”), squeezing herself in between Ron and Harry opposite Darcy, Emily, and Hermione. Gemma joins them a few minutes after, forcing herself between Darcy and Emily. 

“Can’t believe this’ll be the last breakfast I’ll ever have here,” Gemma sighs dreamily, loading her already full plate with different foods the Slytherin table seemed to lack. “Fucking good.”

Hermione scoffs, leaning forward to looks past Darcy at Gemma. Gemma smiles sweetly at Hermione, stuffing her mouth full of sausage. Still chewing, Gemma speaks directly to Hermione. “You know, Hermione,” she says. “I was just like you when I was younger—”

“I’m not going to be like you,” Hermione retorts, busying herself with her breakfast.

“Why not?” Gemma asks, still grinning and pointing her fork at Hermione. “It’s great fun being me.”

“I bet you weren’t thinking how great your life is when you were throwing up in the third floor bathroom Saturday morning,” Hermione answers casually. She takes a sip of pumpkin juice as everyone around them erupts into laughter. “I can’t believe they ever made you a prefect.”

Even Gemma laughs unabashedly at this comment. “We all thought Darcy was going to be Gryffindor prefect,” she says as everyone settles down. “Even though Emily was the one who wanted it.”

“Did you want to be a prefect?” Harry asks Darcy. 

“Nah,” Darcy says with a mouthful of toast, and Gemma raises her eyebrows. “I never would have heard the end of it from Gemma.”

“Life is funny that way, isn’t it?” Gemma teases. 

Darcy chances a glance up from her plate, looking around the Great Hall. But something catches her eye and draws her attention. Snape is leaving the Great Hall and he looks her in the eyes as he sweeps up past the Gryffindor table. No one seems to really notice him, still talking about exams and their plans for the summer. Darcy continues to watch Snape until he’s out of sight, and Emily brings her back to reality by giving her arm a slight squeeze.

“Did you hear me?” Emily asks, and Darcy shakes her head. “Quidditch World Cup this summer— mum can get us tickets.”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Darcy answers distractedly. Against her better judgement, Darcy gets to her feet, brushing some crumbs off her shirt. “Listen— I forgot to pack something— I’ll meet you in the dormitory.”

“I’ll be up in a little,” Emily says as Darcy leaves her friends without another word. 

Darcy hurries from the Great Hall. Instead of proceeding up the marble staircase towards the Gryffindor common room, however, Darcy’s feet take her a different way. She continues towards the dungeons, towards the dank dungeon classroom that is Snape’s, where she’s confident he has returned. With it being the last day of her last year — as a student — at Hogwarts, it has made her feel quite bold and reckless, though Darcy is sure part of it has something to do with the adrenaline that still courses through her after the ordeal with Sirius, Lupin, Pettigrew, and Buckbeak.

Darcy finds that she misses Lupin’s presence much more than she ever expected she would. She regrets not kissing him hard before he had left, regrets not kissing him all over as they had laid in bed together the morning after everything had happened. But she holds onto the thought that, possibly very soon, she will see him again — and then she can wrap her arms around his neck and pepper his face with kisses, to show how grateful she is to have him in her life. Yet Darcy is quite bitter all the same, knowing that Lupin  _ belongs  _ at Hogwarts, teaching, and because of Snape, his life is ruined. Darcy’s heart aches for Lupin, and it’s a sign of how much she cares for him that she lets herself into Snape’s classroom without even knocking.

Snape is seated at his desk, poring over a large and heavy looking book, but he stands at the sight of her in the threshold. Darcy takes a step forward and closes the door, her heart hammering. She knows this is a terrible idea — that Lupin would be exasperated and Dumbledore would likely kill her — but she needs to say what she’s been holding back. She needs to get it all off her chest now so it doesn’t bother her the entire summer. She doesn’t want to be weighed down with regret while at Privet Drive. 

A few months ago, Darcy wouldn’t have dared consider walking alone to Snape’s classroom. But she remembers what Lupin had told her, about Snape being fond of her mother, and she can’t help but to wonder… If Harry had spoken to Snape the way she had in the hospital wing, it’s unlikely he would have left there alive. But Snape had allowed her to yell, had allowed her to say things she’s always thought about him. Snape had given her an extraordinary amount of license compared to others, and that small fact is what keeps her going, despite every part of her wanting to turn right around back to the Great Hall.

“What are you doing here?” he hisses at her. He watches Darcy walk nearer, stepping up to the front of his office and placing her trembling hands on his desk. “What more could you possibly have to say to me?”

Darcy doesn’t even know where to begin. There are so many things she wants to say to him — seven years worth of things. “How could you do that?” is all she can think to say at the moment.

“You are ungrateful, Darcy,” Snape says, scrunching his hooked nose. Darcy frowns as he becomes uglier with each sneer and scowl. “Ungrateful, assuming, and arrogant— how dare you come here after what you accused me of in front of Minister of Magic? How dare you step foot in my classroom after everything that has happened?”

And all the rage and frustration that Darcy had been keeping at bay the past week boils in her again.  _ Who cares what I say now?  _ she thinks. What can Snape do to her now? He can’t take points from her, or give her a detention, or expel her.  _ He could tell Dumbledore he doesn’t want me to come back _ , she tells herself.  _ But it would be worth it. It was absolutely be worth it to say what I want to say.  _

“Why did you do that?” Darcy asks Snape, her tone harsh. She moves closer to him, and they keep their eyes fixed on each other’s. “Do you have any idea what I’ve lost because of you? Your decision to  _ lie  _ about what happened caused me to lose the last of my family—”

“Don’t pretend you care for him now,” Snape says loudly, talking over her. “He’s been rotting in a cell in Azkaban— as he should be— and you didn’t give a damn about him then.”

“That was before I knew the whole story!” Darcy yells, inhaling deeply and trying to calm herself. She clears her throat, licking her dry lips. “I know you were fond of my mother, and I don’t think she would be too happy if she knew what you—”

“Who told you that?” 

Darcy frowns, his tone making her realize she may have crossed a line. But she presses on, needing to humiliate him — needing him to feel the way she feels — needing him to hurt. “Professor Lupin told me that—”

“Lupin told you? Of course,” Snape sneers. “You have done a lot of foolish things in the seven years that I’ve known you, but one of the most foolish things you’ve done is place your trust in him. He tells you some sweet things, gives you some sweet kisses, and in return, you believe anything he whispers in your ear, is that it, Potter?” He exhales through his nose, looking to be enjoying this too much. “You’ve fallen in love with him, is that it? And you think he’s fallen in love with you? You think whatever feelings he has for you are genuine? You are soft, easily manipulated, quick to trust— you are the perfect target for someone looking to plant false stories in someone’s ear. All he had to do was show you a little kindness, hm? How sickening.”

Darcy blushes. Snape smiles triumphantly again, enraging her. Suddenly, she doesn’t want to look into Snape’s eyes anymore, but she doesn’t want to look away and make him think he’s won. “Professor Lupin has been kinder to me this past year than you’ve been to me in seven years,” says Darcy dangerously. “You had  _ no right  _ to out him the way you did—”

“It is because I am curious what you have to say that I’m allowing you to stand here and talk to me the way you are,” Snape cuts her off again. “But you stand here and talk about things you do not understand— you stand here and dare to criticize me—”

“Don’t you realize what you’ve done to him?” she asks, her voice shrill. “You don’t care what happens to anyone unless you can twist it to benefit yourself—”

“It was because of me that you weren’t convicted by the Minister of Magic, or at least forced to testify,” Snape snarls. “I convinced him you had been Confunded, elsewise you would have been in severe trouble, given your company in the Shrieking Shack and the fact that you attacked me when I had come to save your skin—  _ again. _ ”

“So I should be grateful,  _ sir _ ? You put hands on me, shouted at me,” she whispers, crossing her arms over her chest and shaking her head. “You proved that you don’t give a  _ damn _ about me when you lied about Sirius’s innocence. You  _ know _ he’s innocent. I saw Peter Pettigrew with my own eyes— disgusting, pathetic, snivelling at my feet and clutching my skirt begging for mercy. Do you truly think I would lie about something like that?”

Snape says nothing, but breathes very heavily. Darcy expects more — she expects Snape to scream in her face, to spit at her, to strike her across the face, or blast her backwards with a spell. Her face starts to turn red as tears well in her eyes, and she wants nothing more than for someone to hold her — Lupin or Sirius or Emily or  _ someone.  _

“I hate you,” Darcy breathes, looking directly into his black eyes. She doesn’t mean to say it, she had only meant to think it, and Darcy tenses, her face growing redder. For a split second — she almost thinks she imagines it — Darcy swears she sees something soften in Snape’s hard, cold expression. Emboldened, she adds,“You’ve ruined everything, and I hate you.”

“I want you to listen carefully to me, Darcy,” says Snape coldly, leaning closer to her. “I have done you a service by allowing you to speak to me the way you are. I don’t think there is anything left to discuss at this point if you still want to return to Hogwarts in a few months. Now, it would be very wise of you to turn around and walk out that door, Darcy,” Snape says in a voice so soft, she’s not sure he says it at all. His tone is venomous and silky, giving Darcy goosebumps. “And it would also be very wise to go before I must repeat myself.  _ Get out _ .”

She swallows loudly and turns, walking quickly towards the door, embarrassed and ashamed. As she pulls the door wide open to let herself out, she looks over her shoulder once more, just to see if Snape is still watching — he is, and he watches her until Darcy shuts the door closed behind her. But even as she walks down the corridor, Darcy feels better — happier — knowing that Snape knows how she feels. To put the blame on someone makes her feel a hundred times better than she could have believed, and there’s a spring in her step as she returns to her friends. 

* * *

The very last day of Darcy’s seven year adventure at Hogwarts is a warm, summer Saturday. There isn’t a cloud in the bright blue sky, and the sun beats down on her. The lake is completely still, but the giant squid raises a tentacle every so often, as if to check and see if it’s alone or not. In front of the stairs to Hogwarts, with the castle providing a very good backdrop, Carla insists on getting a few pictures of Darcy, Emily, and Gemma together on their last day. The three of them talk excitedly, as girls do, smiling wide for the camera; Gemma, her dark hair pulled out of her face, gives the camera the biggest smile Darcy has ever seen, revealing a mouthful of straight, white teeth; Emily, a close-mouthed smile, the sun making her honey blonde hair shine bright, illuminating her head like a halo; and Darcy, one of her eyebrows slightly raised, a half-smile playing on her lips, red hair parted off to the side and blowing in the slight breeze.

The three of them take several pictures with several of their friends — Darcy and Emily take one together; Carla joins Darcy, Emily, and Gemma for another; Harry, Hermione, and Ron sit on the steps around Darcy. But Darcy’s favorite photograph is one of just her and Harry. Her smile in this picture is much more defined, much more genuine, a toothy grin that Harry mimics. Each of them have an arm wrapped around the other, holding on tight to each other. Carla gives her the photograph right away, and Darcy places it carefully into her pocket, meaning to hang it on her bedroom wall as soon as she gets back to Privet Drive. 

As per custom for all seventh years, Hagrid makes sure to have the boats ready to go when it’s time to board the Hogwarts Express back to London. Darcy, Emily, and Gemma climb into a rickety boat, not having ridden one since first year, and find they’ve grown far to much to share one comfortably. However, they squeeze shoulder to shoulder as the boat begins to carry them across the lake, further away from Hogwarts. They watch the castle grow smaller in silence, smiling up at it, their boat swaying from side to side along with all the others. 

And before long, Darcy is squeezed into a compartment on the train with Harry, Emily, Carla, Hermione, and Ron, and even Gemma sits down between Darcy and Harry. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing prefect things?” Carla asks with a smile.

“Fuck it— I’m not a prefect anymore, right?”

Darcy sits back in her seat, smiling all the while, as her friends and her brothers friends fill the silence for her. Ron and Gemma start to argue about Quidditch once more; Emily explains what the Quidditch World Cup is like to Harry; Carla tells Hermione all about her Christmas trip to Barcelona back in December. Darcy remains quiet, catching bits of this conversation and that conversation, occasionally nodding her head and smiling. She feels stupid, really, thinking Sirius was the last of her family; all these people crammed into the compartment — all these people she loves so much — how could Darcy ever have felt she was part of a broken family? And to know that Lupin is home, possibly thinking of when Darcy will come to visit, makes her smile even wider.

There’s a tapping at the window that makes them all look around, confused, because at first glance, there doesn’t seem to be an owl there. Max is in his cage, hooting with Hedwig on a shelf above Darcy’s head, not tapping anything. And then, as Ron pulls down the window, Harry grabs at an owl, unfastening two letters from its leg. The owl is tiny, hopping from lap to lap in the compartment, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand.

“One’s for you,” Harry says, passing a letter to Darcy, and her heart skips a beat. 

Emily reads over Darcy’s shoulder, but she doesn’t mind. 

_ Darcy— _

_ I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance at a proper good-bye. I wish we could have had more time, especially when we’ve been apart for twelve years. You remind me so much of your mother, and I know that she and James would be so proud of you. _

_ Congratulations on finishing your seventh year. I wish I could present you with an acceptable gift face to face, but I’ve had some gold moved to your vault, so buy yourself something from me.  _

_ Keep me updated on everything. I want to hear every little thing after being gone for so long. If you need anything, let me or Remus know, and we’ll take care of it. And Darcy— so help me, if you do need Remus for something, do not give me any reason to be nervous about the two of you being alone together— _

Emily snorts and Darcy smiles slyly. 

_ Buckbeak and I are safe in hiding at the moment. I’ll let you know next time I’m in the area. For now, take care of Harry and lay low for a little while. Seeing you again has given me such joy that surely no dementor will ever be able to take from me. Soon, you, Harry, and I will be able to be a family again. _

_ Love, _

_ Sirius _

Darcy smiles down at the letter. She folds it up and tucks it in her pocket with the photograph of her and Harry, the familiar sensation of overwhelming love present, as if waking from one of her dreams. 

* * *

After promising to meet up during the Quidditch World Cup, Darcy parts ways with her friends after many tearful hugs and kisses on their cheeks. More people approach Darcy before Vernon nearly drags her from the station — Darcy and Emily’s other dormmates all hug each other tightly; Oliver Wood gives Darcy a swift kiss on the cheek (Aunt Petunia watches on in horror).

However, at the sight of the Weasley family, Darcy can’t hide her excitement. She runs at Mr. Weasley, who wraps his arms around her and squeezes, nearly lifting her into the air as Percy watches on pompously, waving at his friends instead of sharing an emotional smile. Even Mrs. Weasley gives Darcy a hug around the neck and several wet kisses on her face, but Darcy doesn’t mind the attention, especially with the Dursleys watching. 

Before she goes, Mr. Weasley puts a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. Darcy turns, beaming at him. “Shall I get an extra ticket for you for the World Cup? I’ve already gotten an extra one for Harry, but I wasn’t sure…”

“No, thank you,” she says. “I’m going with Emily— I’ll see you there, Mr. Weasley.”

Darcy makes to leave again, but Mr. Weasley doesn’t release her shoulder. “Darcy,” he sighs happily. “I am proud of you. You’ve turned into a fine young woman.” His eyes flick to the Dursleys, who are waiting rather impatiently for her. “I’ll have Ron send a letter about staying with us this summer, shall I?”

“I’d like that a lot.” 

Darcy says goodbye to all the Weasleys again, even hugging Percy, who stiffens as soon as she wraps her arms around him. Mr. Weasley kisses her forehead before giving her a gentle push towards the Dursleys, and before she knows it, Vernon’s car is leaving the station, rolling down the highway, and pulling into the driveway — a silent car ride, not that Darcy had expected congratulations from Vernon, Petunia, or Dudley. Darcy doesn’t really care — she’s more anxious to give Petunia the letter Dumbledore had given her the day Lupin resigned. 

She gets her chance that evening, as Petunia sits outside in the back garden, reading as the sun goes down. Vernon and Dudley are quite distracted by the television program they’ve turned on, and Petunia lowers her book at the sight of Darcy, looking her up and down.

“Aunt Petunia,” Darcy says softly. “I was told to give something to you.”

“What?” Petunia snaps.

Darcy holds out the letter, still sealed. It would have been so easy to read it and reseal it without Petunia being any the wiser, but she had thought it better not to know its contents. Darcy doesn’t doubt the letter is about her, and thinks ignorance is bliss. “It’s for you,” she whispers as Petunia takes the letter from her with shaking hands. “I was told to give it directly to you.”

Petunia opens it, casting a suspicious glance at Darcy. She stands there awkwardly as Petunia’s eyes scan the parchment, her lips tightening in a very Professor McGonagall-type way. Then, she says, glancing over her shoulder at her husband first, “Do you have a place to stay this summer?”

“Er—” Darcy supposes she could stay with Emily, Lupin, or even at the Burrow for a while, but the question catches her off guard. “Yes— I mean, I guess so… Aunt Petunia, what does the letter say?”

Petunia doesn’t answer for a long time. She lowers the parchment and folds it back up, staring off into the distance. “Your godfather— is it true?” she asks, sounding horrified. “He’s innocent?”

Darcy opens her mouth to reply, but then closes it, struggling to find speech. “I— yes, he’s innocent,” she answers slowly. “Did you know him?”

Petunia sighs, closing her book and standing. She looks in the living room once more, sees that Vernon and Dudley are still preoccupied. “Come here,” she snaps to Darcy, and Darcy follows her into the house and up the stairs onto the second floor landing. Petunia makes Darcy wait outside of her bedroom, but after a few minutes, Petunia emerges clutching something in her hand. “In your bedroom.”

What used to be the guest room, plain and uninviting, is now Darcy’s bedroom — Petunia has convinced Vernon years ago that Darcy and Harry could no longer share a room, as it was ‘unnatural’, and at that word, Vernon moved Darcy into the spare room right away. Now, the walls are covered in red and gold rosettes and a Gryffindor scarf hangs from the curtain rod above the single window. A few photographs are stuck to the wall with tape or framed on a shelf — photographs of Darcy and Emily mostly, moving pictures taken over summers at the Duncan’s house. One is of a very tired looking eleven-year-old girl that is Darcy, smiling at the camera with bags under her eyes, looking to be years older than eleven. 

Petunia locks the door behind her and she and Darcy sit on the twin bed together. Darcy’s quite nervous now, as Petunia’s behavior is very out of the ordinary. More than ever, she wants to know what Dumbledore has written in the letter, curious as to why Sirius had been mentioned. And then Petunia holds out the thing in her hands, and Darcy looks into her aunt’s white and tight face before taking the photograph sitting in her palm.

It’s a Muggle photograph, worn from age, full of smiling people. Darcy sees herself first, no older than three years old, and she’s sitting comfortably in someone’s lap — someone that is not her mother or her father. Lounging against Sirius’s chest, Darcy looks at the camera with a tired expression, clearly worn out from a hard day of playing. Sirius is smiling at the camera, dark hair framing his face, his smile the most wonderful smile Darcy’s ever seen. And there, on Sirius’s left side is her father, and Darcy feels butterflies erupt in her stomach. Her father is handsome, about Darcy’s age now, looking very much like Harry. On the end of the sofa, beside Darcy’s father, is her mother, the most beautiful woman in the world. Darcy smiles, eyes moving to the other side of the photograph, where her stomach does a backflip. Sitting on Sirius’s other side is Lupin, legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, a broad smile on his peaky looking face. Forgetting Petunia is with her, Darcy touches Lupin’s face with her index finger, smiling at him. And then her eyes fall upon the last boy, sitting next to Lupin. It is, unmistakably, Peter Pettigrew, and Darcy is surprised that he doesn’t seem so rat-like in the picture. He’s actually smiling, watery-eyed and slightly flushed in the face, and Darcy frowns.

“Where did you get this?” Darcy asks rather harshly. “Why haven’t you shown me?”

“It’s the last photograph your mother ever sent me,” Petunia replies. “Those boys were at our home constantly during the summers when you were here.”

Darcy looks at Petunia for a long time, feeling almost betrayed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Petunia purses her lips. “Listen to me, Darcy,” she whispers, as if someone is listening. “If you are to return each summer with your brother, I want you to stay away from Vernon as much as possible, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

Petunia seems satisfied by this answer, and gets to her feet. She leaves Darcy’s room without another word. Darcy watches her go, watches her close the door behind her, and then looks down at the photograph in her hand. After a minute, Darcy tears the photograph near in half, keeping everyone in the picture except for Pettigrew. She grabs her wand from under her pillow and points it at the photograph, pinning it to the wall just above her bed. Beside it, she pins the picture of herself and Harry, taken just earlier that morning. She admires her work, her eyes lingering on the toddler-Darcy and teenage-Sirius.

Struck with a sudden idea, Darcy pulls out a quill, ink pot, and parchment, sitting at her desk and looking out the window. She taps the feather of her quill to her chin for a moment, watching the quiet street of Privet Drive, thinking hard. Then, she puts her quill to her parchment and begins to write.

_ Sirius— _

_ You said you wanted to know everything, so here’s everything. _

Darcy begins to write furiously, starting from when she’d been brought to Privet Drive. She stays up well into the night, telling Sirius everything — raising Harry, finding out she was a witch, getting Sorted into Gryffindor almost immediately when the Sorting Hat touched her head. She writes about Emily, Carla, and Gemma — writes about the Sorcerer’s Stone and the Chamber of Secrets. Darcy even writes a little about Lupin, about how they’d had dinner almost weekly, talking about everything and nothing. 

And then, when Darcy’s watch reads 3:48, she decides it’s time to wrap up her letter.

_ I used to cry because I didn’t have a real family,  _ she writes,  _ but what a childish thing to think. Petunia gave me a photograph today. You’re holding me in it. Dad is in it, mum, and Remus.  _ Darcy looks at the picture one last time.  _ Thank you for loving me the way I deserve to be loved.  _

_ With love, _

_ Your favorite goddaughter, _

_ Darcy Potter  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I FINISHED 62 CHAPTERS. thanks y’all :^)


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